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Broken  Vow; 

}H,  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE, 


BY  ANNA  aEAOE  CIRISTIAN. 


WI]SrCH,SPHILADEJ.PHIA. 


rjjEED  v^oordiiig  to  Act  of  Con^res«,  In  tlio  year  ISG  \  by  "Wm.  J.  Bunce,  in  Iho 
CIcrk'8  Office  of  tlie  District  Court  of  the  Uniteil  Slatvs 
for  the  Soulliiirn  District  of  Novv-Vorl<. 


vma 


THE 


BEOKEI^    VOW; 


OB 


THE  FOECED  MAEPJAGE, 


BY  ANNA  GRACE  CHRISTIAN. 


W  1 1.  LI  AM    J.    BXjNCE, 

68  Bowery,  near  Canal  St. 

1860. 


Altered  accordjag  to  Act  of  Ocnigress,  in  «be  Year  1866,  hj 

WM.     J.     BUNCE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Di^frici  Co-ir'  of  the  Unit  -d  States,  for  tlw 

Soutb^n  S&liict  of  New  York. 


WnxiAM  B.  Smith,  Printer, 
4i  Chaiham-gL,N.  T, 


I      0  — - 


1  S'6 

BEOKEJS^   YOW;      V  >c- 

OR 

"THE  rORCED  MAEEIAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Near  the  village  of  Lenox,  one  of  the  most  charming  of 
mountain  towns  in  Massachusetts,  amid  the  wildest  luxuri- 
ance of  scenery,  sunny  slopes,  upon  whose  side  the  "  spangled 
meadows  green,"  pleasantly  invite  the  eye  ;  hills,  upon  whose 
gentle  slopes  patches  of  cultivated  fields  contrast  with  the  dark 
foliage  of  the  old  woods  which  the  axe  has  spared,  and  the  whole 
surrounded,  in  the  misty  distance,  by  looming  eminences,  among 
which,  Bald  Mountain  raises  his  majestic  head,  stands  a  snug 
farm  house.  A  mountain  rill  murmurs  pleasantly  before  the 
door,  and  all  around,  the  voice  of  birds  and  drowsy  humming  of 
bees,  fall  musically  on  the  ear.  The  house  is  nearly  hid  from 
view  by  graceful,  drooping  elms,  and  around  its  porch  the 
honey-suckle  and  rose  unite  their  blossoms  and  their  perfume. 
IV  The  owner  of  this  pretty  place,  is  Hiram  Dalton,  a  farmer 
well  to  do.  His  wife  sleeps  in  the  village  cemetery,  and  he 
lives  here  with  his  son  Foster,  and  his  aged  mother,  who  has 
long  since  seen  her  three  score  years  and  ten.  A  jDustling 
young  woman,  named  Nancy  Peabody,  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  poorer  farmers  of  the  neighborhood,  and  Elijah,  or  Lige 
Bates,  a  brisk,  active,  young  fellow,  who  assists  Hiram  about 
the  farm,  complete  the  household. 


IVI508448 


4  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

On  a  beautiful  morning  in  August,  as  the  sun  was  just  peep- 
ing over  the  distant  hills  and  throwing  his  beams  through  the 
tangled  branches  of  the  old  elms  on  to  the  floor  of  the  best 
room,  the  windows  of  which  being  opened,  betokened  some- 
thing unusual  going  on.  Miss  Nancy  Peabody,  in  a  terrible 
state  of  "  flusteration  "  and  impatience,  might  have  been  seen 
flying  in  and  out  of  the  house,  rushing  up  stairs  and  down, 
and  doing  fifty  different  things  in  as  many  minutes,  as  if  she 
had  backed  herself  to  perform  some  wonderful  feat  of  house- 
wifery within  an  impossible  time. 

The  breakfast,  ready  cooked,  stood  simmering  on  the  stove, 
in  the  kitchen,  while  a  large  table,  in  the  same  room,  groaned 
with  a  gorgeous  and  tempting  display  of  all  sorts  of  pies, 
cakes,  doughnuts,  and  various  country  delicacies,  all  of 
them  the  result  of  the  skill,  taste  and  industry  of  Miss  Nancy 
herself.  The  best  room  was  decorated  in  grand  style  with 
bouquets  of  fresh  flowers,  and  sprigs  of  ever-green  ;  the  broad, 
old  fashioned  fire-place  had  been  converted  into  a  bower  of 
feathery  asparagus,  and  the  ancient  mahogany  chairs,  table 
and  side-board,  shone,  by  dint  of  hard  scrubbing,  to  such  an 
extent,  that  you  might  have  seen  your  face  in  any  of  them. 

The  old  lady,  Hiram  Dalton's  mother,  or  "  Granny,"  as  she 
was  universally  called,  not  only  by  her  own  household,  but  by 
the  whole  jjopulation  for  miles  around,  among  whom  she  was 
generally  honored  and  loved,  had  not  yet  risen,  and  Hiram 
Dalton  stood  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  a  short  distance  below 
the  house,  looking  anxiously  towards  the  village,  as  if  he  were 
waiting,  with  no  very  great  amount  of  patience,  for  some  one 
to  appear  in  that  direction.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best  Sun- 
day suit,  with  the  color  and  cut  of  which,  the  congregation  of 
the  village  church,  where  he  worshiped,  were  well  acquainted, 
he  having  worn  it  Sunday  after  Sunday  for  an  almost  forgot- 
ten number  of  years,  and  as  he  never  put  it  on  except  on  such 


BROKEN   VOW,  OR  THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  6 


H  sacred  occasions  and  at  the  town  meetings,  where  his  voice 
"  was  as  potential  as  the  next  man's,  the  fact  of  his  having 

I  donned  it  on  this  morning,  is  proof  positive  that  something  of 
more  than  ordinary  importance  is  afoot. 
He  kept  peering  through  his  spectacles,  into  the  far  dis- 
tance, and  occasionally  he  would  stump  up  and  down  the  road, 
^  muttering  to  himself,  "  The  scape-grace !  The  good-for-nothing, 
shift-less,  orinary  cuss,  to  act  so  at  such  a  time !  I  swan  to 
man  it  is  too  bad.  But  I'll  fix  him."  He  had  been  doing  this 
H  ever  since  day-light  very  much  to  the  annoyance  of  Nancy, 
who  was  anxious  for  him  to  come  in  and  have  his  breakfast,  in 
order  that  she  might  get  her  "  chores"  done  and  out  of  the 
way ;  and  now,  that  young  lady,  out  of  all  patience,  at  last  had 
resolved  to  let  things  take  their  chance,  and  after  giving  a 
glance  all  round,  to  see  if  there  was  not  just  one  more  thing  to 

I  be  done,  and  not  being  able  to  discover  anything  to  which  she 
could  possibly  turn  her  busy  hands  to  advantage,  she  had  gone 
up  stairs  to  her  room,  from  which  she  shortly  emerged  dressed 

I  in  the  most  amazing  "  store  clothes,"  and,  as  she  thought,  au 
rigeur,  with  the  exception  of  her  neckerchief,  which  could  not 
be  properly  adjusted  without  the  aid  of  the  large  looking-glass, 
which  hung  in  the  best  room. 
Thither,  then,  she  repaired,  and  standing  on  tip-toe,  for  she 
was  not  tall  and  the  mirror  hung  high,  so  as  to  take  in  as 
much  of  herself  at  a  glance  as  she  could,  she  surveyed  her  ap- 
Ipearance,  with  which  she  seemed  to  be  perfectly  satisfied.  And 
well  she  might,  for  a  plumper,  more  buxom,  brighter-eyed, 
smarter  looking  girl,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  find. 
The  clock  which  stood  in  the  corner  sounded  six,  from  its 
tall  coffin-like  case,  as  she  commenced  the  adjustment  of  the 
handkerchief,  which  was  to  give,  in  her  opinion,  the  coup  de 
grace  to  her  finery. 

"  Sake's  alive,"  she  said,  speaking  to  herself,  "  six  o'clock  as 


6  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

I'm  a  sinner,  and  breakfast  not  over  yet !  Well,  they  do  say 
that  time  flies  quicker  on  a  day  like  this,  than  any  other  in  the 
world.  Confomid  it,  I've  forgot  the  pins,  what  a  chuckle-head 
I  be  I"  and  she  turned  away  to  go  up  stairs  again  after  the  ar- 
ticles she  needed. 

But,  half  way  between  the  mirror  and  the  door,  she  met  an 
unexpected  obstacle  to  her  progress,  in  the  person  of  a  spruce, 
brown  faced,  broad-shouldered,  young  countryman,  about  two 
and  twenty,  who,  putting  out  both  arms  as  she  approached, 
seized  her  by  her  round,  plump  shoulders,  the  amazing  attrac- 
tiveness of  which,  the  troublesome  handkerchief  was  design- 
ed to  cover,  and  endeavored  to  snatch  a  kiss  from  her  pouting 
lips,  as  he  exclaimed, "  Mulasses  and  Honey !  I'm  dod  rotted  if 
you  don't  look  killinger  than  ever." 

The  attempt,  however,  was  a  rash  one,  and  his  compliments 
were  illy  received,  for  a  smart  slap  in  the  face,  from  the  not 
very  delicate  hand  of  the  fair  Nancy,  made  his  cheek  tingle, 
and  a  good,  hearty  push  sent  him  flying  into  the  corner,  while 
throwing  her  handkerchief  over  her  shoulders,  she  stood  in  the 
defensive. 

"Persimmons!"  exclaimed  the  baffled  youth,  rubbing  his 
cheek,  "  but  I'm  deuced  if  that  ain't  a  rouser !  Seems  to  me 
you're  riled." 

"  Then  keep. your  distance.  Mister  lige  Bates,  and  don't  be 
maulin'  folks  before  you  know  whether  they  like  it  or  not." 

"  Well,  I  swow,"  he  replied,  gradually  getting  nearer  to  her, 
till  he  caught  hold  of  the  corner  of  her  neck  handkerchief, 
and  by  a  sudden  jerk,  snatched  it  off  her  shoulders — "  You're 
puttin'  on  airs  ain't  you  ?  Had  to  come  into  the  keepin'  room 
to  fix  yourself,  'cause  there's  a  big  looking-glass  in  it." 

"  And  what  is  that  your  business,  you  pesky  imp  ?  You'd 
better  be  out  doors  attendin'  to  your  chores  and  feedin'  the 
cattle.    Give  me  my  handkerchief." 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  7 

"  It's  mighty  peart,  ain't  it  ?"  he  said  tauntingly,  keeping 

out  of  arms-reach,  and  shaking  the  handkerchief  up  and  down, 

}*'  Scissors,  when  they  see  you  looking  so   all-j&red  fine,  folks'! 

think  that  you're  the  bride.    Jerusalem  !  don't  I  wish  you 

was!" 

And  if  I  was,  I  shouldn't  be  yours,  so  you  needn't  feel  so 
anxious." 

"  Well,  whose  would  you  be,  then  ?  There  ain't  no  other  fel- 
ler that's  a  sparkin'  ye,  be  there  ?" 

"  You  give  me  my  handkerchief  and  mind  your  business— 
I  vow  I  needn't  go  a  beggin',"  she  said  with  a  pout,  snatching 
her  handkerchief,  and  throwing  it  once  more  over  her  plump 
shoulders,  "  There's  as  good  lish  in  the  stream  as  ever  was 
caught." 

"  Yes,  but  the  trouble  is  to  catch  'em.  May  be  they  won't 
bite  at  your  bait.  But  Nancy,"  he  said,  softening,  and  look- 
ing at  her  lovingly,  "  Don't  let's  be  snappish.  What's  the  use  o' 
being  cross  ?" 

**  Give  me  a  pin,  then,  if  you  want  to  see  me  good-natured." 

"  A  dozen  of  'em,  if  you  want  'em,"  he  said,  taking  half  a 
dozen  out  of  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  which  she  took,  and  return- 
ing to  the  glass,  again  commenced  the  completion  of  her  toil- 
et, while  Lige  followed  her  and  standing  by  her  side,  asked, 
coaxingly,  "  Say,  Nancy,  you  didn't  mean  what  you  said  jist 
now,  did  ye." 

"  What,  that  I  wouldn't  marry  you  ?" 

*'Yes." 

"  Be  I  in  the  habit  of  teKing  fibs  ?" 

*'  Well,  if  you  did  mean  it,  who  would  you  marry  ?" 

«  Nobody." 

*'  What  I  Be  an  old  maid  ?    You  git  out." 

"  How  do  you  like  me  now  ?"  she  said,  after  she  had  adjusted 
the  handkerchief  to  her  taste.     "  Does  it  look  scrumptious  ?'* 


8  bunce's  ten  cent  notels. 

"  Well,  you  look  purty  enough  to  make  a  feller's  head  swiiii. 
But " 

"But  what?    What  are  you  looking  sour  about  ?" 

"  Well,  I  feel  kinder  streaked — I  -v^-ish  you  was  as  ugly  as 
thunder,  as  ill-natured,  cross-grained,  and  cantankerous,  as — 
as — well,  as  Peleg  Bryce." 

"  Ugh  !  The  old  sarpent.  What  on  airth  do  you  want  to 
speak  of  ]tira  for  in  a  day  like  this.  It's  sure  to  bring  ill-luck, 
and  it's  perfectly  awful  to  think  of  him,  even  on  a  wedding- 
day." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  if  you  was  as  ugly  as  be  is,  I  shouldn't 
love  you  as  I  do,  and  then  I'd  be  a  deuced  sight  better  off." 

''Well,  then,  just  imagine  I  am  old  and  wrinkled,  and  mean 
and  ugly,  and  as  cross  as  the  old  satan,  and  you  won't  feel  bad 
any  more.  But  you'll  have  to  imagine  it,  for  I  ain't  a  going  to 
be  a  bit  wuss  looking,  nor  wuss  natured  than  I  be,  to  please 
you,  so  there." 

"And,  I  wouldn't  have  you.  See  here,  Xancy,  I  swow  I 
was  only  jokin' — say,"  he  continued,  getting  by  degrees  his 
a?m  round  her  waist.  "  'Spose  we  kill  two  birds  with  one 
stone,  and  when  the  minister  comes  to  marry  Foster  Dalton  to 
Mary  Maythorne,  let's  get  him  to  make  you  and  I  bone  of  one 
bone  and  flesh  of  oBe  flesh.    Won't  ye,  say  ?" 

"  Lige  Bates,  it  akit  no  use  for  you  to  coax,"  she  answered, 
looking  up  at  him  coquettishly,  and  not  offering  to  disturb  his 
arm,  which  enclosed  her  very  closely  by  this  time,  "  cause  you 
see  I  aiat  a  going  to  leap  before  I  look.  Marriage  is  a  pesky 
serious  business.  It  is  mighty  easy  to  get.into  the  noose,  but 
it  is  derned  irksome  to  git  eout  of  it.  It  is  all  very  well  to 
say,  let's  git  married  to-day,  but  it's  just  as  well  to  think  a 
little  about  to-morrow.  We  can't  always  tell  ahead.  Now  spose 
I  should  marry  Foster  Dalton,  instead  of  Mary  Maythorae,  I 
don't  reckon  I'd  git  much  of  a  catch.    It  would  make  me  feel 


0 

i 


BEOKEN   VOW,    OS   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  9 

mighty  uncomfortable  to  hear  what's  said  agin  him  all  over,  I 
tell  you.    I'm  a  going  to  look  before  I  jump." 

"  What  do  they  say  of  Foster  Dalton  ?" 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  they  say  he  gambils ;  and  a  man 
that  gambils  is  a  lost  critter.     Satan  '11  git  him,  sure.    They 
say  he  goes  down  to  Lenox  and  gambils  every  night,  with  a. 
hull  lot  of  wild  fellers,  and  that  he  loses  every  red  cent  he  gits 
hold  of,  and  they  say  besides  that " 

"  I  know,"  interrupted  Lige  Bates,  "  I  know,  and  it  was  that 
demed  old,  pizin  rhinoceros,  Peleg  Bryce,  who  circulated  them 
stories,  and  I  jist  believe  it  was  him  that  fust  led  him  into 
them  ways." 

"Jest  as  like  as  not,"  said  Nancy,  "jest  as  like  as  not,  the 
hatchet-faced  cuss.  You  know  what  happened  last  year  and 
how  his  marriage  was  broken  off?" 

"  Well,  I  did  hear  somethin'  about  it,  but  I  didn't  git  all  the 
facts." 

"Well,  the  old  hunks  wanted  to  marry  Mary  Haythorne, 
himself." 

"Do  tell?" 

"  Tes,  and  they  say  that  she'd  a  had  him  on  account  of  the 
old  folks,  cause  he  was  so  rich,  but  a'fore  he  got  the  thing  set- 
tled, along  comes  Foster  Dalton  and  cuts  him  out,  so  that  when 
Peleg  asked  her  to  marry  him,  she  just  up  and  refused  him, 
point  blank." 

"  And  its  mighty  lucky  for  her  she  did,"  said  Lige,  "  the  old 
oak  burr." 

"  After  a  while,  Peleg,  he  seed  how  the  cat  had  jumped,  and 
ver  since  he's  owed  a  grudge  against  Foster  Dalton,  who  is 
going  to  be  married  to-day,  here,  in  his  father's  house.  She 
and  her  folks  give  theirconsent  that  the  marriage  should  come 
off  here,  in  place  of  the  bride's  house,  all  on  account  of  old 
Granny  Dalton,  who  is  too  old  to  travel  so  far,  and  who  would 


10  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

have  died  if  she  had  not  been  by  her  grandson  when  the  cere- 
monv  was  done," 

*'  Well,  I  wish  'em  both  luck,"  said  Lige,  "  it  will  make  the 
old  house  different  though,  having  a  young  wife  in  it.  How 
will  you  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  and  I  will  git  along.  She's  a  nice  gal,  and  as  long 
as  she  don't  interfere  with  my  ways.  111  endure  her !  But 
come,"  she  said,  relieving  herself  of  the  arm  of  Lige,  which  all 
this  time  had  kept  its  place  around  her  buxom  form,  "  we  aint 
got  any  time  to  lose.  The  wedding  is  to  be  at  twelve  o'clock 
so  as  to  give  the  bride's  folks  a  chance  to  git  home  before 
night,  and  here  breakfast  aint  over  yit.  There  stands  the  old 
man  watching  for  his  son.  The  confounded  fool,  what  did  he 
want  to  stay  out  all  night  for,  when  he  knew  he  was  going  to 
be  married  in  the  morning  ?    He "11  be  late." 

• "  I  know  one  who  won't  be  late  for  the  wedding  one  of  these 
fine  days — when — when " 

"  When  what  ?" 

"  Why,  when  yours  and  mine  comes  off,  to  be  sure.  I  ain't 
going  to  take  you  at  your  word." 

"  Won't  you  ?" 

"  No.  Because  you  don't  mean  it.  Do  you  ?  Won't  you 
marry  me  some  day  ?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Perhaps  !"  exclaimed  Lige,  seizing  her  quickly  and  giving 
her  a  hearty  kiss,  for  which  he  did  not  get  his  face  slapped 
this  time,  "  Oh,  pumkins,  that's  jist  as  good  as  yes  !  When 
you  are  my  wife  I  shall  be  your  husband,  and " 

"  But  I  only  said  perhaps." 

"  Well,  perhaps  ;  that's  all  right.  Perhaps  will  do  for  mo 
now.  Perhaps  means  yes,  and  I'm  as  happy  as  a  pig  among 
acorns." 

"  There,"  said  the  blushing  Nancy,  getting  away  from  him. 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  11 

"  I  hear  my  milk  boiling  over,  and  there's  the  old  man  a'call- 
ing  you  ;  so  clear !"  and  they  both  left  the  room,  she  to  rim 
into  the  kitchen  to  look  after  the  milk,  and  Lige  to  answer 
Hiram  Dalton,  who  was  shouting  for  him  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

*'  "Why  don't  you  answer  when  I  call  ?"  asked  Hiram,  crossly, 
when  Lige  made  his  appearance  on  the  porch  of  the  house. 
"Are  you  deaf?  Run  down  and  put  the  sorrel  colt  in  the 
wagon,  and  then  come  into  breakfast." 

Lige  went  to  obey  the  old  man's  wish  without  paying  any 
attention  to  his  ill-humor,  because  he  knew  he  was  vexed  at 
the  absence  of  his  son,  and  Hiram  went  into  the  kitchen  where 
Xancy  was  already  putting  breakfast  on  the  table.  "  Run  in," 
he  said,  "  and  bring  out  Granny,  she  must  be  ready  by  this 
time,  and  let  us  have  breakfast.  You  have  seen  nothing  of 
my  son  ?    He  has  not  come  in  the  back  way  ?" 

"  !N"o,"  answered  Nancy,  going  to  call  Granny.  "  Have  you 
Been  him  coming  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Hiram,  angrily,  "  If  I  had  I  should  not  ask 
you  where  he  was.     But  go  !  you  know  what  you  have  to  do." 

Nancy  bounced  out  of  the  room  in  a  huff,  for  she  was  in- 
dependent, as  her  class  generally  are,  and  didn't  put  up  quietly 
with  cross  words  from  anybody. 

"The  ymng  villain!"  Hiram  muttered,  as  the  clock  struck 
seven.  "  Not  here  yet.  To  go  away  at  such  a  time  and  for 
such  a  purpose.  He  is  a  bad  son,  and  will,  I  fear,  make  a  bad 
husband.  I  ought  to  be  thrashed  for  ever  giving  my  consent 
to  the  marriage.  If  Granny  finds  it  out,  it  will  kill  her ;"  and 
the  old  man  paced  the  room,  full  of  grief  and  anger. 

In  a  moment  or  two  Granny  entered  the  apartment,  sup- 
ported by  Nancy. 

She  was  over  eighty  years  of  age,  but  her  form  was  erect, 
and  her  eye  looked  as  bright  as  it  had  fifty  years  before,  while 


12  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

her  face,  though  wrinkled,  was  a  goodly  one  to  look  on,  for  it 
beamed  with  benevolence,  piety,  and  sympathy. 

*'  Ha !  Good  morning,  Hiram,"  she  said.  "  Good  morning, 
boy.  I  give  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  Nancy  !  Ah ,  ray  old 
limbs,  they  are  not  as  nimble  as  they  used  to  be.  Good  morn- 
ing, Elijah.  You  have  all  been  waiting  for  old  Granny,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Lige  having  returned,  they  took  their  places  at  the  table. 
The  old  lady  sitting  by  the  side  of  her  son,  and  asking  a  bless- 
ing. 

''  I  feel  very  happy  to-day,"  she  said,  sipping  her  coffee,  "  and 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  all  looking  so  well.  I  am  not  very  hun- 
gi-y.  I  don't  feel  like  eating  my  breakfast.  I  am  so  full  of 
joy.  Ha,  this  is  a  great  day !  I  have  not  seen  such  a  day 
since  you  got  man-ied,  Hiram.  I  have  been  dreaming  of  it  all 
night.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  don't  seem 
easy,  Hiram.  What  troubles  you  ?  You  don't  eat  your  break- 
fast, and  you  look  as  cross  as " 

"Oh,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  nothing,"  said 
Hiram,  quickly.  **  Nothing  at  all,  I  am  like  you,  the  thought  of 
what  is  going  to  happen  has  taken  away  my  appetite.  That  is 
all,  I  shall  be  as  jolly  as  anybody,  soon." 

Little  more  was  said  until  the  meal  was  finished.  Hiram 
rose,  and  after  conducting  his  aged  mother  to  her  favorite  seat 
by  the  window,  from  which  she  could  enjoy  the  beautiful  pros- 
pect which  surrounded  the  house,  he  went  to  the  door,  and 
going  into  the  road,  once  more  looked  to  see  if  he  could  yet 
perceive  any  signs  of  his  absent  son. 

"  Who  are  you  looking  for  ?"  asked  Granny,  when  he  came  in. 

"  Never  mind,"  answered  Hiram,  "  I  am  looking  for — for — " 
and  then  turning  to  Lige,  he  said,  "  Why  don't  you  give  me 
my  pipe  ?  You  know  I've  been  looking  for  it  for  the  last  two 
houra." 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  13 

Lige  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  turned  to  Nancy,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  He's  as  mad  as  a  hornet." 

"  Then  get  his  pipe,  and  let  him  stop  his  mouth  with  it," 
said  Nancy,  pushing  him  away. 

"  Good  Gracious  !  Hiram,  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  looking  at 
him  sharply  through  her  spectacles,  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  this  morning  ?  How  contrary  and  cross  you  are.  What 
has  gone  wrong  ?"  ,         ^ 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  nothing.  You  know  I  cannot  help  it. 
It  is  my  disposition.  The  least  thing  ruffles  me.  Do  not  pay 
any  attention  to  me.  Then  turning  away,  "  Tlie  mean  cuss  !" 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "  Oh,  I'll  talk  to  him  !" 

"  But,  bless  me,"  asked  Granny — as  if  for  the  first  time  she 
had  missed  her  grandson.  "  Where  is  Foster  ?  Hasn't  he 
come  down  yet  ?" 

"  No,  not  yet,"  his  father  answered.    "  Not  yet." 

"  Sake's  alive  !"  the  old  lady  ejaculated,  "  but  it  takes  him  a 
long  while  to  dress  himself  on  his  wedding  morning.  Elijah, 
won't  you  go  and  tell  him  to  hurry  down  ?  I  want  to  see  him, 
to  bid  him  good  day,  and  wish  him  joy,  the  dear  fellow.  Nancy, 
I  hope  you  have  got  everything  in  order.  Everybody  will  be 
here,  and  we  must  not  look  shiftless.  Hiram,  have  you  asked 
Peleg  Bryce  to  come  to  the  wedding?" 

"  Yes,  mother.    I  could  not  very  well  get  out  of  it." 

"  Well,  you  was  right.  You  was  right.  It  wouldn't  do  to 
take  any  notice  of  what  has  happened.  It  would  look  as  if 
we  wanted  to  slight  him.  Oh,  by  the  way,  come  here  Nancy, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Have  you,"  she  whispered,  when 
Nancy  had  gone  over  to  her,  "  have  you  done  as  I  asked  you  ? 
Is  it  there  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Nancy. 

"  Why,  the  present,  the  surprise  ?  Have  you  put  it  in  his 
room,  where  he  will  be  sure  to  have  seen  it  as  soon  as  he  en- 
tered the  door  ?" 


14  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Granny,  I  have  put  it  just  over  his  looking-glass. 
He'll  be  sure  to  see  it  there." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  please  him,  eh  ?"  asked  Granny,  her 
old  face  beaming  with  affection,  "  will  he  like  it  ?  Ah !  she 
is  a  beautiful  watch,  girl.  She  cost  me  fifty  dollars  in  goold. 
But  we  don't  have  a  grandson  married  every  day,  and  so  long 
as  it  makes  him  happy,  the  dear  boy,  I  would'nt  have  begrudg- 
ed a  hundred.     No,  no,  not  I." 

"  Poor  old  woman,"  thought  Nancy,  "  she  little  thinks  he 
has  not  been  home  all  night,  and  has  not  perhaps  thought  of 
her  for  a  week." 

"  Ah,  well,  have  you  sent  for  him,  why  don't  he  come  ?  He 
is  a  long  while " 

Lige,  who  had  been'standing  on  the  porch,  here  entered  the 
room,  and  going  stealthily  up  to  Hiram  Dalton,  whispered  in 
his  ear : 

"  He  is  coming ;  I  saw  him  just  now  slip  round  the  house 
and  go  in  the  back  way." 

"  Well,  and  why  do  you  whisper  it  ?"  asked  Hiram,  petulantly, 
'*  What  on  earth  do  you  want  to  make  a  mystery  of  it  for  ?" 

"  I  thought,"  commenced  the  young  man,  pointing  to  Gran- 
ny, "  that  the  old  lady  might  be  kinder  put  out  if  she  know'd 
that " 

"  Right,  boy — right,"  answered  Hiram,  taking  his  hand  and 
shaking  it  warmly.  "  It  was  thoughtful  of  you,"  and  he  walk- 
ed towards  the  window,  by  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  which  led  to 
the  chamber  occupied  by  his  son. 

In  a  minute  or  two,  Foster  Dalton  came  in  at  the  back 
door.  Seeing  his  father's  face  turned,  and  hoping  to  reach 
his  room  without  being  observed  or  questioned,  he  shut  the 
door  quietly  after  him,  and  walking  on  tip-toe,  noiselessly  ap- 
proached the  foot  of  the  stairs  ;  but  just  as  he  had  placed  his 
foot  upon  the  bottom  step,  Hiram  turned  and  regarded  him 
with  a  stern  look. 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  15 

"  Ah,  is  it  you,  at  last  ?"  he  asked. 

The  young  man,  finding  himself  thus  detected,  started,  and 
a  blush  of  shame  suffused  his  face  ;  but,  in  a  moment,  his  au- 
dacity returned,  and  holding  out  his  hand,  he  said,  with  an  air 
of  affected  frankness  : 

"  Yes,  father !  Good  morning." 

But  Hiram  threw  back  his  proffered  hand  and  uttering  an 
angry  exclamation,  broke  his  pipe  across  it. 

The  noise  caused  Granny  to  turn  her  head,  and  perceiving 
Foster  she  said : 

"  Ha,  boy !  you  have  crawled  out  at  last  have  you  ?  Come 
and  give  me  a  kiss." 

The  young  man  did  as  she  requested,  and  stooping,  kissed 
her  wrinkled  forehead,  while  his  father  turned  away  with  a  dis- 
turbed and  angry  look. 

"  You  would  not  forget  your  old  Granny,  would  you  ?"  she 
said,  caressing  him,  and  twining  her  thin  fingers  in  his  beauti- 
ful clustering  curls.  "  In  your  excitement  and  joy,  you  still 
keep  a  corner  of  your  heart  for  her,  eh  ?" 

"  Of  course,  dear  grand-mother." 

"  But  you  look  very  pale  this  morning,  lad,  and  your  face  is 
anxious  and  worried — you  look  tired." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hiram,  turning  towards  her  quickly,  "  I  suppose 
he  has  not  slept  much,  and  perhaps,"  he  continued,  more  stern- 
ly, and  looking  at  his  son  in  a  reproachful  manner,  "  perhaps 
he  has  not  slept  at  all !" 

"  Ah  !  yes,  yes,  I  understand.  He  has  been  thinking  of  her 
all  night.  Have  you  not,  boy  ?  Thinking  of  to-day,  of  your 
joys,  your  hopes,  your  future,  your  happiness.  Well,  well, 
sleep  will  come  by-and-by.  It  will  get  to  be  an  old  stoiy.  But 
you  are  very  pale.    Have  you  eaten  anything  this  morning  ?" 

"  No,  dear  Granny^ — not  yet.     I  do  not  wish  any  breakfast." 

"  But  you  must  eat  something,  and  you  have  not  much  time 


16  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

to  lose.  You  know  yon  have  to  go  with  your  father  to  bring 
Mary  over." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know." 

"I  suppose  you  are  all  impatience.  The  minister  will  be 
here  at  twelve  o'clock.  It  was  very  good  of  them  to  have  the 
wedding  here.  It  aint  the  custom  for  a  girl  to  leave  her  father's 
house  to  be  married.  But  what  could  they  do  ?  I  couldn't  go 
there  with  these  poor  old  limbs,  and  I  should  never  have  got 
over  it  if  I  had  not  been  jDresent  at  your  happiness,  boy.  No, 
no." 

"  I  know  it,  Granny — I  know  it." 

"  But  it  is  time  you  were  dressing  yourself,  Granny,"  Nancy 
suggested.  "  The  folks  will  be  coming  soon,  and  I  won't  get  a 
chance  to  help  you,  if  you  don't  begin  pretty  quick." 

"  Pshaw  !  child,  don't  bother,  I  have  plenty  of  time.  But  I 
say,  Nancy,  he  has  not  spoken  of  the  watch,"  whispered  the 
old  lady  in  her  ear.  "  I  say,  Foster,"  she  continued,  aloud, 
paying  no  attention  to  Nancy's  head  shaking,  with  which  she 
tried  to  stop  her.  "  Tell  me,  Foster,  boy,  how  do  you  like  her  ? 
Does  she  suit  your  fancy  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly.     Exceeds  all  I  could  wish." 

"  Ha,  ha !    And  is  she  not  got  up  in  very  good  taste  ?" 

"  Excellent !  Granny,  excellent  1" 

"  Ha  !  I  knew  you  would  say  so." 

"  Poor  old  woman,"  said  Nancy  quietly  to  Lige,  "  she  is 
speaking  of  the  watch,  and  he  thinks  she  is  talking  about  his 
intended.  I'd  like  to  warm  his  wool  for  him,  the  denied 
pump  !" 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  knew  she  would  please  you,"  the  old  lady 
went  on,  with  a  chuckle,"  and  I  have  had .  the  surprise  in  my 
head  for  a  long  time." 

"  Ah,  you  thought  then " 

"  Yes,  and  though  there  were  several  to  choose  from " 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  17 

"  Then  you,  yourself,  selected  her  for  me,  eh  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  and  I  selected  the  richest,  because " 


'*  But  it  is  not  her  wealth  that  I  sought,  you  know,  Granny. 
I  love  her  for  herself." 

"  To  be  sure  ;  but  though  she  is  a  gold  one,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  a  silver  one  would  have  pleased  you  quite  as  well,  so  long 
as  I " 

"  Gold  !"  asked  Foster,  not  understanding  what  the  garru- 
lous old  woman  meant. 

"  Gold  !  to  be  sure  she's  gold.  The  shopkeeper  warranted 
her  to  be  gold,  and  that  her  works  would  not  get  out  of  order 
in  a  year." 

"  How  ?"  exclaimed  Foster,  now  fairly  mystified,  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?" 

But  Nancy,  though  she  would  have  delighted  in  teasing  the 
young  man  still  more,  here  came  to  the  rescue,  and  for  fear 
that  his  grand-mother  would  discover  his  fault,  she  whispered 
in  his  ear,  "  It  is  a  watch  she  sjoeaks  of ;  a  present,  a  sui-prise, 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  ah,"  said  Foster,  seeing  at  once  the  mistake  he  had 
made,  "  To  be  sure,  and  I  have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  it." 

"  Never  mind  thanks,  keep  it  for  my  sake.  Never  part  with 
it,  and  when  its  hands  point  to  the  hour  when  your  poor  old 
Granny  shall  bid  you  good-bye  for  the  last  time,  you  will  think  of 
this,  and  remember  that  she  laid  her  old  hands  upon  your  young 
head,  and  asked  her  Heavenly  father  to  be  ever  mindful  of  the 
happiness  of  her  dear  boy,  and  to  bless  you  and  your  dear  wife." 

"  The  scoundrel !"  thought  Hiram,  "  if  he  has  a  conscience, 
how  it  must  prick  him." 

"  But  come,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  must  be  getting  ready ! 
Come,  Nancy,  Child,  and  help  me  to  my  room,  and  put  on  my 
best  gown.  We  must  all  look  our  best  to-day.  Come,  come, 
be  quick,  Child.     Go  and  get  ready  too,  Foster." 


18  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  I  will,"  the  young  man  replied,  going  to  the  stairs. 

But  his  father,  placing  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  stopped  him, 
saying  quietly,  "  Eemain  !  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you," 
and  then  turning  to  the  old  lady,  he  said,  "  Go  and  dress,  moth- 
er, Forster  and  I  will  be  ready  in  time." 

"  All  right,"  said  Granny,  rising,  "  all  right." 

"  Will  you  take  hold  o'  me  ?"  asked  Lige,  offering  his  shoul- 
der for  her  to  rest  upon. 

"  What  do  I  want  of  you,  eh  ?"  she  asked.  "  What  should 
I  want  to  lean  on  your  shoulder  for  ?  I'm  as  strong  as  you  are, 
if  I  am  not  so  young.  Look !"  and  the  old  lady  strutted  out 
of  the  room  as  straight  as  a  grenadier. 

"  Well,"  said  Lige  to  himself,  "  I  don't  know  but  I'd  better 
git  eout  too.  There's  a  storm  a'  coming  up  and  I'll  clear  till 
it  blows  over ;"  and  he  left  the  room,  leaving  Hiram  Dalton 
and  his  son  alone. 


r'f 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  19 


CHAPTER  11. 

Foster  Dalton  was  about  twenty-three  years  of  age.  He  was 
an  only  son,  and  had  been  the  idol  of  his  mother,  and  the  spoiled 
pet  of  his  grand-mother.  His  father,  too,  though  he  had  en- 
deavored to  hide  his  feelings,  under  a  rough,  though  not  harsh 
manner  towards  him,  had  performed  his  share  in  the  work  of 
making  him,  what  he  had  been  from  infancy,  a  spoiled  child. 

At  an  early  age,  he  had  been  sent  to  school  at  a  distance 
from  home,  and  from  which  he  was  recalled  to  weep  over  the 
death-bed  of  his  mother,  who  died  in  giving  birth  to  a  daugh- 
ter, who  only  survived  her  a  few  hours. 

After  this,  he  remained  at  home  for  a  few  years,  occasionally 
assisting  his  father  on  the  farm,  but  he  was  by  no  means  fond 
of  labor,  and  at  last,  Hiram  Dalton  yielded  to  his  solicitations, 
in  which  his  grand-mother  joined,  to  send  him  to  College,  and 
he  entered  Yale,  in  his  eighteenth  year. 

Here  he  did  not  distinguish  himself  by  his  application  and 
scholarship,  although  his  natural  abilities,  and  quickness  of 
perception,  relieved  him  from  much  of  the  severe  drudgery  of 
study,  so  that  he  was,  in  spite  of  all  his  recklessness,  enabled 
to  hold  his  own  with  those  in  his  class  who  were  more  indus- 
trious. He  soon  acquired  a  reputation  for  being  forward  in  all 
kinds  of  mischief,  and  he  was  frequently  brought  to  task  for 
his  delinquencies.  Among  other  vices  to  which  he  was  ad- 
dicted, that  of  gambling  was  the  worst,  and  his  passion  for 
games,  of  chance  earned  him  to  such  extremes,  that  he  sacri- 
ficed every  thing  to  its  indulgence.    Night  after  night  he  spent 


20  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

at  the  gaming-table,  sometimes  winning,  but  more  frequently 
losing  eveiy  penny  that  he  could  command. 

His  father,  although  he  considered  him  extravagant,  and  often 
expostulated  with  him  upon  the  sums  of  money  he  spent,  had 
no  thought  of  the  truth,  and  continued  to  supply  him  with  the 
means  of  indulging  in  his  fatal  weakness. 

By  dint  of  hard  "  cramming  "  and  lenity,  he  managed  to  grad- 
uate, and  he  left  College  in  his  twenty-second  year,  an  indiffer- 
ent scholar,  but  a  confirmed  and  reckless  gambler. 

On  his  return  home  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  the  law, 
-in  the  town  of  Lenox,  and  still  continued  his  habit  of  gam- 
bling, until  at  last,  his  father,  whose  purse  was  continually  de- 
pleted to  supply  his  losses,  had  his  suspicions  aroused,  and,  on 
inquiry,  learned  the  painful  truth. 

He  took  him  severely  to  task,  and  for  a  time  refused  to  as- 
sist him  in  any  way  ;  but  upon  his  solemn  promise  to  reform, 
oft-times  repeated,  he  had  forgiven  him,  and  given  his  consent 
to  his  marriage  with  Mary  Maythorne,  the  daughter  of  a  worthy 
farmer,  who  resided  in  the  neighborhood. 

Just  before  the  wedding-day,  Hiram  Dalton  began  to  suspect 
that  his  son  had  continued  to  deceive  him,  and  that  he  was 
still  a  slave  to  the  dreadful  fascination  of  his  fatal  vice. 

He  had  remonstrated,  threatened,  implored,  in  vain.  He  had 
painted  the  misery  which  a  continuance  in  such  a  course  would 
bring  down  on  the  head  of  the  woman  he  was  about  to  swear 
to  love  and  cherish,  in  the  vain  hope  of  arousing  in  him  a  de- 
termination to  break  the  chains  which  bound  him  to  the  gaming- 
table, and  now,  when  he  found  that  all  would  do  no  good,  he 
had  made  a  stern  resolve  to  pursue  the  only  course  left  for  him, 
•''^•and  to  do  his  duty,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they  might. 
f  But  the  father  did  not  know  all  the  errors  of  his  misguided 
son.  He  fancied  that  gambling  was  his  only  besetting  sin,  and 
that  once  redeemed  from  rt,  his  boy  might  yet  live  to  be  an 


BROKEN   VOW,  OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  21 

honor  and  a  comfort  to  his  declining  days.  Alas !  had  he 
known  that,  besides  his  passion  for  play,  he  had  conceived 
another,  the  indulgence  of  which  had  not  only  plunged  his 
soul  deeper  in  sin,  but  had  forever  blighted  the  peace  and  hap- 
piness of  one  whose  only  fault  had  been  a  deep,  abiding  tr*ist- 
fulness  in  him,  had  he  known  this !  But  we  will  not  an- 
ticipate. 

When  Hiram  Dalton  found  himself  alone  with  his  profligate 
son,  his  long  pent  up  rage  and  indignation  found  vent,  and 
turning  upon  him,  he  asked, "  When  and  where  is  this  to  end  ? 
How  long  will  you  continue  your  dissolute  life. 

"  But,  father "  Foster  began. 

"  Don't  (jail  me  father !"  the  old  man  exclaimed,  "  You  have 
forfeited  the  right.  What  new  excuse  were  you  about  to  offer  ? 
Where  were  you  all  the  night  ?" 

The  young  man  stamped  his  foot  angrily,  but  made  no  reply. 

*'  Where  were  you  ?  I  say,"  Hiram  repeated, ''  do  you  think 
your  angry  stamping  and  fuming  will  close  my  mouth  ?  Do 
you  think  that  your  conduct  does  not  make  me  suffer  ?  Oh, 
when  I  think  that  last  night — even  last  night — ^you  could  not 
keep  away  from  that  damnable  place,  when  I  think  you  had  so 
little  heart  or  feeling  as  to  go,  though  your  presence  there 
might  have  been  disclosed  to  the  family  of  which  you  were  so 
soon  to  become  a  member,  my  face  burns  with  shame  for  you. 
What  if  they  should  know  of  your  conduct  ?  A  pleasant  thought 
for  your  intended  wife,  that  her  husband  spent  the  night  befpre  .^ 
his  marriage  in  a  gambling  hell."  \s 

"But " 

"  But,  but !    Did  you  not  see  the  fear  I  was  in  but  now,  lest 
your  grand-mother  should  suspect  the  truth  ?  Poor  old  womaij^* 
would  she  not  have  died,  if  she  had  known  what  a  wretch  you  , 
were  ?  If  I  had  not  hid  from  her " 

"  But  listen  !"  ^ 


22  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Silence,  Sir,  and  listen  you." 

"  Go  on,  Sir."     . 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kind  permission  !  I  will  go  on.  Do 
you  think  you  can  impose  silence  upon  me  ?  How  have  you 
dared,  since  your  sworn  promise — but  hold !  I  will  talk  no 
more.  The  time  has  come  for  me  to  act.  I  have  a  duty  to 
perform.  Do  you  think  I  will  allow  this  marriage  to  proceed  ? 
Do  you  imagine  I  will  allow  you  to  practice  a  base  deception 
upon  the  honest  people  and  the  loving  hearts,  who,  in  their 
confidence  in  you  and  me,  intrust  their  daughter's  happiness  to 
your  care  ?  No,  I  will  inform  them  of  all.  I  will  tell  them 
that  you  are  without  heart,  principle,  or  honor.  I  will  tell  them 
you  are  a  gambler,  and  that  they  had  better  see  their  daughter 
in  her  grave,  than  place  her  in  your  amis.    In  the  arms  of  a 

man  who  would "  Hiram  continued,  lowering  his  voice  so 

as  not  to  be  heard  by  Granny,  "  who  would  not  hesitate  to 
break  the  heart  of  his  poor  old  grand-mother,  and  who  has  dis- 
sipated at  the  gaming-table,  nearly  all  his  father  ever  acquired 
by  honest  industry." 

"  No,  no,  father.  You  will  not — ^must  not — do  this  ;  hear 
me !"    The  young  man  urged. 

"  I  will  not  hear  you.  I  have  said  it,  and  may  I  never  see 
Heaven  if  I  do  not  do  as  I  have  said." 

"  But  they  will  not  listen  to  you." 

"  Not  listen  to  me.  Sir.  What  do  you  think  I  am  ?  A  liar, 
like  you  ?" 

"A  liar!  But  you  are  my  father,"  said  Foster,  turning 
deadly  pale,  and  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  Yes,  a  liar.  Have  you  kept  the  promises  you  made  to  me 
^—promises  of  reformation  and  good  conduct  ?  Have  you 
kept  the  oaths  you  have  made  to  the  same  purpose  ?  And 
you  turn  pale  with  anger  when  I  call  you  liar.  What  are  you 
else  ?" 


BROKEN  VOW,  OR  THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  23 

"  But,  father !" 

"  Well,  what  answer  can  you  make  ?" 

"  Only  one  word.  I  love  Mary  Maythorne,  and  nothing  in 
the  world  shall  separate  me  from  her." 

"  It  is  false  I"  the  old  man  said.  "  You  do  not  love  her. 
Had  you  loved  her,  for  her  sake  if  not  for  mine,  you  would 
have  led  a  different  life  long  ago.  True  love  makes  a  man  vir- 
tuous and  honest." 

"  But  what  will  the  world  say  ?" 

"What  will  it  say  ?"  repeated  Hiram,  throwing  himself  into 
a  chair,  "  What  can  it  say,  if  I  consent  to  this  wicked  thing  ? 
They  will  say  that  I,  Hiram  Dalton,  allowed  my  son  to  marry 
Mary  Maythorne,  because  she  was  rich,  and  that  her  fortune 
would  repair  the  breach  made  in  mine  by  my  dissipated  son ! 
That  is  what  the  world  will  say,  and  it  would  bow  my  head  in 
shame.  No.  I  will  not  suffer  it !"  And  the  old  man  rose 
and  went  towards  the  door. 

"  Stop,  father.  Do  not  take  this  rash  step  without  hearing 
me  ;  without  giving  me  an  opportunity  to  justify  myself,"  ex- 
claimed the  young  man,  making  after  him,  and  seizing  him  by 
the  hand. 

"Justify  yourself!  What  impudence!"  he  said,  coming 
back  to  his  seat. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment,"  the  young  man  continued,  "  and 
after  I  have  spoken,  judge  me.  But  let  me  speak  all  that  I 
feel." 

"  Well,  speak.    What  have  you  to  say  ?" 

"  First,  let  me  ask  your  pardon  for  the  anger  I  have  display- 
ed towards  you.  Sir.  One  cannot  always  be  master  of  his 
feelings,  and  you  have  borne  heavily  upon  me.  I  am  sorry. 
And  now,  I  will  explain  my  absence  last  night.  I  will  not 
try  to  palliate  the  faults  of  which  I  am  guilty,  but  last  night,  I 
went  to  liquidate  a  sacred  debt— a  debt  of  honor.    I  acknow- 


24  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

ledge  tliat  for  a  long  time  my  fatal  passion  has  carried  me 
away,  but  I  have,  at  last,  broken  the  spell  and  am  once  more 
free  ;  for  from  the  day  upon  which  I  swore  to  you  that  I  would 
be  worthy  of  my  Mary's  love,  I  have  played  no  more.  But  my 
companions  had  claims  upon  me — claims  which  compromised 
my  honor,  and  I  determined  before  I  led  her  to  the  altar,  I 
would  cancel  them.  Should  I  not  pay  the  money  whicli  I 
owed,  I  knew  that  the  curse  of  my  folly  would  follow  me  day 
after  day,  and  perhaps  lead  to  the  discovery  of  my  former 
habits  by  my  wife,  and  I  determined  to  banish  this  fear.  It 
was  to  complete  my  enfranchisement  that  I  was  absent  last 
night.  I  have  accomplished  my  object.  I  am  free.  And  now, 
I  ask  you  whether  I  did  not  perform  an  act  of  duty  by  guard- 
ing against  any  sad  effects  of  my  evil  course  in  the  future  ?" 

"  Ah,  Foster !  Foster  !"  said  Hiram  Dalton,  half  convinced, 
"  Could  you  know  how  wickedly  you  have  acted.  How  I  have 
suffered." 

"  But  you  believe  what  I  have  said  ?" 

"  Should  you  deceive  me  still  !" 

"  Ah,  you  little  know  how  this  love  has  changed  me." 

*'  And  are  you  really  free  ?  Can  no  one  in  the  world  some 
day  tax  you " 

"  Father,  I  have  told  the  truth." 

**  One  more  question,"  said  the  old  man,  rising,  "  I  must  be 
well  assured.  Tell  me,  do  you  really  and  sincerely  love  this 
girl?" 

''  Nothing  shall  ever  separate  me  from  her." 

"  But  have  you  not  felt  or  said  the  same  before,  in  other 
cases  ?  Is  this  the  first  woman  you  ever  swore  to  love  eter- 
nally?" 

"  Great  Heaven  !  can  he  suspect !"  thought  Foster,  turning 
away  his  head  and  biting  his  lip.  Then  summoning  fresh 
courage,  he  asked,  "  What  mean  you  ?*' 


BROKEN-    VOW,   OR   THE    FORCED    >rARRIAGE.  26 

*'  Is  there  uo  woman  who  can  accuse  you  of  falsehood,  as 
there  is  no  man  who  can  accuse  you  of  dishonor  ?" 

"  No,  father,  no.  But  come,"  he  added,  as  if  anxious  to 
change  the  subject,  ''  it  is  time  you  were  on  your  way.  So, 
now  that  you  are  calm,  and  have,  I  trust,  forgiven  me,  please 
precede  me  to  Mr.  Maythorne's  and  inform  them  I  will  be 
there  immediately.  I  have  to  dress,  and  we  must  return,  you 
know,  by  twelve  o'clock." 

"  May  I  trust  you  ?" 

"  Believe  me,  you  may.  You  shall  never  have  cause  to  re- 
pent your  confidence." 

"  Ah,  should  you  practice  upon  my  affection  and  credulity, 
to  deceive  me  again,  Heaven  will  punish  you.  You  have  told 
me  the  truth  ?  The  whole  truth  ?  I  do  not  speak  to  you  now 
as  your  father,  nor  ask  you  to  answer  as  a  son,  but  as  between 
two  friends,  two  men  of  honor,  I  ask  you  have  you  spoken 
truth  ?" 

"  I  have." 

"  Then  give  me  your  hand,  and  I  will  do  all  that  you  desire. 
Now  hand  me  my  hat  and  cane,  and  I'll  be  off." 

Foster  shook  hands  with  his  father,  upon  whose  face  a  smile 
of  happiness  once  more  beamed,  and  gave  him  his  hat  and  cane. 
When  the  old  man  reached  the  door,  before  which  the  sorrel 
colt  was  standing  ready  hitched  to  the  wagon,  he  shook  hands 
with  him  again,  and  jumping  into  the  vehicle,  said  : 

'*  Dress  yourself  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  follow  me  directly. 
And  I  say  boy,  I  was  pretty  hard  on  you  just  now.  But  don't 
let  it  make  you  unhappy." 

"  No,  no,  father,"  said  Foster,  going  to  the  side  of  the 
wagon,  and  once  more  taking  the  old  man  by  the  hand,  "  I 
know  you  meant  it  only  for  my  good,  and  I  shall  remember  it 
only  to  profit  by  it." 

"  That's  right,  (jood-bye."  And  Hiram  Dalton  was  just 
about  to  start  the  colt,  when  Peleg  Bryce  came  up. 


26  bunce'e  ten  cext  novels. 

He  was  a  thin,  spare  man,  of  about  fifty  years  of  age.  But 
his  lanteni  jaws,  beak-like  nose  and  protruding  chin,  together 
with  the  wrinkles  which  crossed  his  face  in  all  directions,  like 
lines  upon  a  rail-road  map,  made  him  look  older  than  he  was. 
His  eyes  were  small,  cold,  grey,  and  shark4ike  in  their  expres- 
sion, while  a  long  crane  neck,  in  which  every  cord  and  vein 
was  visible,  red  coarse  hair,  and  very  large  ears,  completed  as 
disagreeable  a  picture  as  any  one  need  look  upon. 

"  Good  day.  Good  day,  neighbors,"  he  said,  a  sickly  smile 
making  his  sinister  looking  face  more  wicked  than  ever  in  its 
expression,  and  holding  out  a  thin,  dirty  looking  hand,  so  co- 
vered with  freckles  that  it  looked  like  some  nasty  sort  of  scaly 
fish.  "How  do  you  find  yourselves  this  morning?  this  happy 
morning,  I  should  say.  You  are  going  off  in  grand  style  neigh- 
bor Dalton.    Going  for  the  fair  young  bride,  I  suppose,  eh  ?" 

"  With  your  consent.  If  you  have  no  objection,  Peleg 
Bryce,"  answered  Hiram,  with  ill-concealed  irritation. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  stop  you  for  the  world.  Don't  mind  me. 
Don't  stand  on  any  ceremony  with  me.  I  did  not  know  ex- 
actly what  time  this  here  marriage  was  to  take  place,  and  so 
I  thought  I'd  come  early  and  find  out,  'case  you  see  it's  all'ers 
best  to  be  in  time." 

"  Ah,  well,  Peleg,  Foster  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  must 
go,  now."  Then  turning  once  more  to  his  son,  he  said,  in  an 
undertone,  as  Peleg  moved  towards  the  door  of  the  house, 
"  If  I  have  been  too  narsh,  fori^ive  me,  boy.  I  am  rough  some- 
times." 

His  son  made  no  anssver,  but  once  more  pressed  his  hand, 
and  Hiram  giving  the  sorrel  colt  a  fillip  with  his  whip,  was 
soon  whirled  out  of  sight,  and  Foster  followed  Peleg  into  the 
house. 

"  I  don't  like  that  hand-shaking,"  thought  Peleg  to  himself. 
It  does  not  suit  my  plan.    It  is  a  bad  sfgn  just  at  this  time." 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  27 

Then,  as  Foster  entered  the  house  he  said,  rubbing  his  horrid 
hands,  "  Well,  Mr.  Foster  Daltou,  it  will  soon  be  over,  eh  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Foster,  going  up  the  stairs  which  led  to 
his  room.    "  I  hope  so." 

"  Yes,  but  we  can't  always  tell,  you  know.  There's  many  a 
slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,  Mr.  Foster,  and  we  are  never 
sure  of  a  thing,  until  we  have  it." 

*'  No,"  answered  the  young  man,  stopping  on  the  stairs,  and 
turning  round,  "  you  ought  to  know  that,  Peleg." 

If  he  could  have  seen  the  expression  of  Peleg's  face  when 
he  heard  his  words,  he  would  have  been  sorry  for  his  remark, 
for  it  betokened  a  malignant  hate,  which  any  man  might  have 
feared. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  quietly,  suppressing  his  anger,  "  We 
shall  see.  You  may  find  it  out,  too,  Foster  Dalton.  Not  that 
I  wish  you  any  ill-luck.  Heaven  forbid  !  but  a  marriage  bro- 
ken off,  always  leaves  a  broken  heart.  Yes,"  he  said,  fixing 
his  eye  on  Dalton  ;  "  allways,  always  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Peleg  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  de- 
scending the  stairs,  and  going  to  him. 

"  Oh,  nothing. '  I  was  just  thinking,  that  was  all." 

"  But  why  do  you  use  such  words  to-day,  particularly  ?" 

"  Because,  Foster  Dalton,  I  remember  that — but  never  mind, 
never  mind.  "What  had  I  to  do  with  a  wife  ?  Why  maiTy  ? 
To  frighten  her  to  death  with_my  ugliness  ?  No,  no ;  it  is 
better  after  all,  that  I  should  re^u  single.  I  can  amuse  my- 
self with  my  money  But  I  am  detaining  you,  and  your  father 
may  be  obliged  to  wait  for  you,  perhaps.  What  time  does  the 
ceremony  take  place  ?" 

"  At  noon." 

"  Here  ?" 

"  Yes.    Here." 

«'  Thank  von.     I  shall  be  back  in  time." 


28  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

Foster  turned  away  and  went  to  his  room,  and  after  a  short 
time  left  the  house  ;  as  he  did  so,  he  ejaculated,  mentally, 
"  Thank  Heaven,  in  an  hour  all  will  be  over." 

Peleg  stood  watching  him  as  he  rode  away,  and  as  Foster  turn- 
ed the  corner  of  the  road  and  disappeared  from  his  sight,  he 
mbbed  his  hands  and  grinned  maliciously,  as  he  muttered  to 
himself — "  Go  your  ways — go  your  ways,  my  innocent  lambs, 
you  little  dream  what  is  in  store  for  you !  I  am  an  ugly  old 
serpent,  with  fiery  hair  and  yellow  skin,  am  I  ?  Well,  well,  I  have 
sharp  teeth,  too,  and  you  shall  find  that  Peleg  Biyce  can  bite 
as  well  as  snarl.  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Foster  Dalton,  I  don't  forget 
the  debt  I  owe  yon,  and  I'll  pay  it,  with  interest.  Yes,  laugh," 
he  growled,  as  sounds  of  mirth  issued  from  the  room  where 
Granny  was  completing  her  toilet,  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
Nancy,  making  herself  grand  for  the  great  occasion.  "  Laugh 
away,  laugh  while  you  may.  It  won't  be  long.  I  have  a  nice 
little  scheme  in  my  head  which  will  make  you  laugh  on  the 
other  side  of  your  mouths  soon.  She  would  not  have  me,  the 
fair,  delicate,  little  Mary  Maythorne  !  Old  Peleg  Bryce  would 
not  do  for  her ;  he  was  not  gay  and  handsome  enough  ;  but  if 
I  am  not  a  fool,  she  would  rather  marry  me,  ugly  and  old  as  I 
am,  than  you,  Mr.  Foster  Dalton,  when  she  shall  know  the 
little  secret  I  can  whisper  in  her  ear.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  I  can 
see  her  now  ;  when  her  eyes  are  opened,  how  surprised  she  will 
be ;  and  her  handsome  intended,  and  his  self-satisfied  old  father, 
and  the  old  woman — ha !  ha ! — ^how  they  will  all  stare  and  take 
on  1  Ha  !  here  comes  that  young  devil,  Lige  Bates,  I'll  whet 
my  appetite  on  him.  Patience,  Peleg,  patience  !  Your  time 
will  come." 

''  I  say,  Nancy,  Nancy !"  exclaimed  Lige,  entering  the  room, 
and  not  seeing  Peleg.  "  They  are  coming.  I  see  a  hull  lot  of 
folks  coming  over  the  hill.  Hurry  up !"  then  turning  and  seeing 
Peleg,  hia  countenance  fell,  and  he  said  :  "  Hillo  I  old  Peleg,  I 
didn^t  know  you  was  hisfe." 


BROKEN    VOW,   OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  29 

"  Yes,  here  I  am,  in  time,  you  see.     How  are  you,  Lige  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I'm  all  right.    As  happy  as  a  colt  in  a  ten  acre  lot." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you." 

"  And  how  be  you  ?  You  don't  look  very  jolly.  You  look 
more  like  going  to  a  funeral  than  a  wedding." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Lige,  wrong.  I  never  was  half  so  happy 
in  my  life,"  said  Peleg,  rubbing  his  big  ears. 

"  Well,  so  much  the  better  for  you !" 

"  I  am  happier  than  you  even." 

*'  Well,  I'm  derned  if  you  look  it,"  thought  Lige.  "  To  judge 
from  your  face,  I  should  say  that  you  was  about  as  miserable 
an  old  cuss  as  ever  felt  bad  because  other  people  felt  good." 

"  Yes,  I  am  happier  than  you,"  Peleg  went  on.  ''  You  know 
I  always  enjoy  seeing  other  people  contented." 

"Then  you  are  really  glad  Foster  Dalton  is  going  to  git 
married,  be  you  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  !  when  he  is  married  I  shall  dance  for  joy." 

"  The  mean,  ornary,  lying,  old  Belzebub  !"  Lige  thought  to 
himself.  "  He's  jist  about  as  happy  as  if  he  had  sot  on  a  hor- 
net's nest." 

"  What  a  happy  time  it  will  be,  wont  it,  Lige,"  Peleg  com- 
menced again,  with  a  hideous  grimace,  "  when  they  are  man  and 
wife  ?  They  are  both  so  young,  so  handsome  !  And  with  such 
a  future  before  them  !  I  should  like  to  have  been  the  grooms- 
man to  such  a  pair  !" 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  propose  it  to  the  groom  ?  He'd  a 
jumped  at  the  chance.     It  would  a' been  a  strong  contrast." 

"  AVould  it,  Mr.  Lige  ?  Thank  you.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Yes.  You  look  as  if  you  was  a  swelling  and  choking  like  an 
old  turkey  cock.     You  know  you'r  as  mad  as  pisen." 

*'  No,  I'm  not,  Lige.  Everybody  has  his  joke  on  old  Peleg, 
but  I  don't  mind  it.  I  understand  that  Creighton  Herbert  is 
the  chosen  man." 


L 


30  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Yes,  so  I  hear,"  said  Lige.  "  He  is  one  of  Foster  Dalton's 
best  friends,  though  he  hasn't  been  in  Lenox  long.  He's  awful 
rich,  they  say.  Got  lots  of  housen  in  York,  owns  hull  squares 
on  'em." 

"  He's  a  doctor,  I  hear,  but  I  havn't  heard  of  his  being  so 
dreadful  rich,  Lige." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Lige,  "  he's  handsume,  rich,  and  smart.  I've 
hearn  tell  he  was  a  doctor,  but  only  practices  for  fame.  Hell 
make  a  splendid  groomsman," 

"  People  exaggerate  sometimes,  Lige.  All  is  not  gold  that 
shines,  and  Mr.  Herbert  may " 

"  Oh,  git  eout !  you  are  always  trying  to  pick  a  hole  in  some- 
body's coat.  You  can't  bear  to  think  that  anybody  should  be 
more  thought  of  than  you.  Everybody  thinks  a  heap  of  Mr. 
Herbert,  and  everybody  knows  that  he's  got  more  money 
than  you  have,  twice  over,  and  that  he's  a  ripping  good  doctor 
among  the  poor  folks  !" 

**  A  doctor  for  groomsman  !  That's  not  a  bad  idea.  They 
may  need  him.  The  bride  might  faint,  or  something  might 
happen,  and  it  would  be  handy  to  have  a  doctor  around,"  said 
Peleg,  rubbing  his  hands  and  grinning. 

"  I  reckon  if  anybody  gits  sick  at  this  wedding  it'll  be  yon, 
old  Peleg.  You'r  bursting  with  wrath  now.  You'd  better 
keep  cool,  and  go  and  soak  that  red  head  o'  your'n,"  said  Lige, 
as  he  left  the  room,  and  went  out  into  the  road. 

"  Gro  on.  Go  on,"  old  Peleg  muttered,  "  I'll  pay  you  all  at 
once.  But  I  must  be  gone,  or  I  shall  not  be  back  in  time  to 
see  the  sport.  When  I  do  come  back  to  this  house,  Mr.  Dalton, 
it  will  be  a  sorry  hour  for  you,"  and  creeping  into  his  ricketty 
chaise,  which  stood  near  the  house,  he  whipped  up  his  skeleton 
of  a  nag,  and  went  away  muttering. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  guests  began  to  arrive,  and  as  the 
first  of  them  were  seen  by  Lige  approaching  the  house,  he  went 


I 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  31 

in  and  informed  Nancy,  who  had  just  finished  assisting  Granny 
Dalton  to  put  on  her  best  cap,  and  within  a  few  moments  she 
was  seated  in  grand  state  in  the  best  room. 

"Take  a  good  look  at  me,  Nancy,"  she  said,  smoothing  her 
carefully  kept  bhick  silk  gown,  ''  and  see  if  everything  is  right. 
Are  you  sure  my  cap  is  on  straight  ?  It  'pears  to  me,  that  its 
just  a  leetle  on  one  side.  No  ?  well,  you  know  best,  but  I  want  to 
look  as  nice  as  I  can,  in  honor  of  the  dear  boy.  Bless  him,  and 
flis  pretty  little  wife.  Oh  how  happy  I  shall  be  when  it's  all  over !" 

Assured  by  Nancy  that  she  never  looked  better,  and  that 
everybody  else  would  say  the  same  thing,  the  old  lady  became 
perfectly  satisfied,  and,  as  the  guests  came  in,  received  them 
with  stately  kindness,  and  seemed  the  happiest  old  wouian  in 
the  world.  When  the  minister  arrived,  who  was  a  patriarchal 
looking  old  gentleman,  nearly  as  aged  as  herself,  she  seemed 
more  delighted  than  ever,  and  as  he  took  his  seat  by  her  side, 
after  having  kindly  shaken  hands  with  everyl)ody  present,  she 
entered  into  a  cosy  conversation  with  him,  and  told  him  a  hun- 
dred times,  if  she  told  him  once,  that  it  was  "  the  happiest  day 
of  her  life." 

AVithin  a  few  minutes  of  the  appointed  time,  Hiram  Dalton 
and  Crelghton  Herbert  arrived,  followed  in  a  moment  or  two, 
by  the  fair  young  bride,  her  parents,  and  he  who  was  sliortly  to 
be  her  husband.  They  were  received  with  a  joyous  welcome, 
and  while  Mary  Maythorne  retires  with  Nancy  and  her  brides- 
maid, to  make  a  few  necessary  additions  to  her  toilet,  we  will 
take  occasion  to  give  a  brief  description  of  her  and  Creighton 
Herbert,  who  will  occupy  a  somewhat  prominent  place  in  this 
narrative. 

To  begin,  then,  with  the  bride  elect :  Mary  Maythorne  waa 
about  eighteen  years  of  age ;  tall  and  slight  though  well  de- 
veloped and  graceful  in  figure  ;  with  a  mild,  sweet  face  which 
attracted  sympathy  and  kindly  feeling  the  moment  you  looked 


32  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

upon  it.  Her  eyes  were  blue  and  large,  shaded  by  long  droop- 
ing  lashes,  and  her  hair  was  of  a  beautiful  golden  hue,  and 
hung  in  glistening  ringlets  over  her  fair  shoulders.  Her  mouth 
was  small,  and  her  teeth  white  and  delicate.  No  one  could 
look  at  her,  without  seeing  at  a  glance,  that  she  was  confiding 
in  her  disposition,  and  that  her  heart  was  capable  of  the 
strongest  and  most  enduring  affection.  Foster  Dalton  was 
her  first  love.  She  had  met  him  within  a  few  months  of  his 
return  from  College,  and  though  it  cannot  be  said  that  at  first 
she  felt  any  particular  interest  in  him,  she  had,  at  last,  learned 
to  love  him,  and  had  listened  to  his  proposals  with  a  heart 
brimful  of  joy  and  affection.  She  knew  nothing  of  her  lover's 
evil  habits,  nor  did  she  for  a  moment  dream  that  deceit  or 
wickedness  could  dwell  in  his  heart.  Full  of  confidence  and 
trust,  she  was  about  to  resign  her  fate  into  his  hands,  without 
one  foreboding  thought,  or  a  suspicion  that  he  could  render 
her  life  ought  but  a  happy  one. 

Creighton  Herbert,  who,  at  the  solicitation  of  Foster  Dalton, 
was  about  to  officiate  as  groomsman,  was  all  that  Lige  Bates 
had  described  him.  Rich,  handsome,  intellectual  and  good. 
He  was  the  only  son  of  wealthy  j)arent3,  who  dying  soon  after 
he  attained  his  majority,  had  left  him  a  large  fortune,  consist- 
ing principally  of  real  estate  in  the  city  of  New  York.  He 
bad  been  educated  to  the  profession  of  medicine,  for  which  he 
had  a  strong  predilection,  and  though  his  circumstances  reii- 
dered  the  practice  of  his  profession  for  gain  unnecessary,  he 
devoted  nearly  all  his  time  by  relieving,  by  bis  skill,  and  often 
by  his  purse,  the  distresses  of  the  poor.  There  was  no  roof 
so  humble,  no  man  or  woman  so  poor,  as  not  to  be  worthy  of 
the  young  physician's  care  and  skill,  and  though  he  had  been 
but  a  short  time  in  Lenox,  his  name  was  already  a  household 
word  in  many  a  cottage  and  poor  man'rf  home. 

He  usually  resided  in  the  metropolis,  but  visiting  Lenox, 


BROKEN    VOW,    OK   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  33 

the  summer  before,  in  company  with  a  young  artist,  whose 
patron  and  friend  he  was,  he  had  remained  some  time  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  liad  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Mary  May- 
thorne,  for  whom  there  soon  sprang  up  in  his  heart  a  warm  and 
ardent  passion.  He  was  not  long  in  discovering,  however,  that 
her  affections  were  ah-eady  engaged,  and  though  he  hid  his 
real  sentiments  under  the  cold  and  formal  guise  of  friendship, 
and  often  met  her  with  a  mere  look  of  recognition,  he  would 
have  given  all  his  wealth  to  have  thrown  himself  at  her  feet 
and  declared  his  love. 

Foster  Dalton  had  no  suspicion  of  this  passion,  when  he 
asked  Creighton  Herbert  to  take  part  in  the  ceremony  which 
should  make  him  the  happy  possessor  of  a  treasure  the  latter 
would  have  been  too  happy  to  call  his  own;  nor  did  Creighton, 
by  word,  look  or  act,  give  him  the  slightest  hint  of  the  truth, 
but  with  a  noble  generosity,  gave  his  hearty  assent,  and,  in 
accordance  with  his  promise,  was  here,  present  at  a  ceremony 
which  was  to  wreck  his  every  hope,  and  widow  his  heart  forever. 
But  there  was  no  cloud  upon  his  brow,  no  unkind  feelings  in  his 
heart,  he  only  prayed  that  Mary  might  be  happy,  and  that 
Foster  Dalton  might  prove  worthy  of  wearing  such  a  jewel, 

While  they  were  waiting  the  appearance  of  Mary,  previous  to 
the  ceremony,  Foster  approached  Creighton  Herbert,  and  tak- 
ing his  hand,  said,  "  I  cannot  resist  thanking  you  again  for 
your  kindness,  in  acting  as  my  friend  on  this  occasion.  I 
shall  always  remember  it  with  gratitude  and  pleasure." 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  Mr.  Dalton.  Believe  me,  I  take 
pleasure  in  adding  to  your  happiness,  and  that  of  your  lovely 
intended  wife." 

"  To  be  sure.  Doctor,  I  know  it,"  said  Hiram,  coming  up 
and  taking  him  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  You  are  a  good  fellow, 
Doctor.  Ha,  Foster,  my  boy,  you  ought  to  be  a  happy  man. 
I  never  thought  your  little  wife  was  half  so  pretty.  Isn't  she 
beautiful,  Doctor,  eh  V 


34  buxce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Slie  is,  indeed,  Sir,"  replied  Herbert,  smothering  a  sigh  in 
a  smile.     "  I  congratulate  you  both." 

"  And  when  are  you  going  to  be  married,  eh.  Doctor  ?"  old 
Hiram  asked.  "  It  is  time  you  began  to  look  about  you.  But 
I  suppose  you  will  choose  a  city  wife,  eh  ?" 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  marrying  any  one  at  present,"  answered 
Herbert.     "  In  fact,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  marry  at  all." 

"  What !  not  marry  ?  Pshaw !  A  man  like  you,  rich,  hand- 
some, smart,  and  alone  in  the  world,  not  marry  !  Ah,  you  will 
tell  a  different  story  soon." 

Further  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
Nancy,  who  summoned  Foster  to  come  and  wait  upon  the 
bride. 

Accordingly,  young  Dalton  and  Herbert  joined  Mary  May- 
tliorne  and  the  young  bridesmaid  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
the  next  moment,  the  bridal  party  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  Nancy  and  Lige,  all  smiles  and  excitement. 

"  Come  here,  my  dear  children,  come  h-ere,"  exclaimed 
Granny  Dalton,  as  soon  as  they  came  in.  "  Come  here  and  let 
me  kiss  you  both  before  you  are  married.  Oh,  I  am  so  happy  I" 
and  as  a  proof  of  it,  the  old  lady  burst  into  tears. 

"  Bless  you  both,"  she  said,  "  bless  you !  Don't  mind  my  cry- 
ing. I  aint  crying  because  I  am  unhappy,  but  my  poor  old 
heart  is  so  full." 

"  There,  there,"  exclaimed  Hiram  Dalton,  coming  forward, 
"  don't  cry  any  more,  mother,  the  minister  is  waiting,  and  time 
flies.     It  is  past  twelve  o'clock,  already." 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  old  lady  dried  her  eyes,  and  after  kiss- 
ing the  bride  on  her  smooth  white  forehead,  she  permitted  her 
grand-son  to  lead  her  away,  and  the  bridal  party  ranged  them- 
selves at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  under  the  direction  of 
the  venerable  clergyman,  who,  as  is  customary  in  most  coun- 
try places,  before  commencing  the  ce^'emony,  improved  the  oo- 


I 


BROKEN  VOW,  OR  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE.         35 

casion  by  making  a  lengthy  exordium,  in  which  he  spoke  of 
the  solemnity  of  the  rite  about  to  be  performed,  and  gave 
all  present  a  great  deal  of  good  advice. 

Then  turning  to  Foster,  he  asked  the  usual  question,  "  Will  • 
you,  Foster  Dalton,  take  this  woman  to  be  your  wedded  wife, 
&c.  r 

"■  I  will !"  answered  Foster  in  a  clear  voice. 
"And  will  you,  Mary,  take  this  man  for  your  wedded  husband  ?" 
She  was  about  to  reply,  but  ere  the  words  had  formed  them- 
selves upon  her  lips,  there  was  a  noise  in  the  hall,  then  a  loud 
and  piercing  scream,  and  a  woman's  voice  exclaimed,  "  Xo,  no  ! 
I  forbid  it  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !  stop  !  stop !" 

All  rose.  The  minister  paused  and  turned  towards  the  door, 
on  which  all  eyes  were  iixed. 

There  was  a  trampling  of  feet,  the  crowd  around  the  door 
gave  way,  and  Peleg  Bryce  entered  the  room  supporting  on  his 
arm  a  pale,  delicate  young  woman,  who  held  an  infant  to  her 
breast. 

"  Lucy  Thornton !"  all  cried,  starting  back  in  amazement, 
while  a  demoniac  grin  of  satisfaction  covered  the  hideous  face 
of  Peleg,  as  the  woman,  raising  her  right  arm,  exclaimed  : 

"  Foster  Dalton,  I  forbid  this  marriage  to  go  on  !  You  have 
no  right  to  marry  her.  I  have  a  prior  claim,  which  I  assert 
before  God  and  all  here,  and  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  and  in 
the  name  of  Justice,  I  demand  my  right  I" 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  exclaimed  Hiram. 

"  I  mean  that  he  has  sworn  to  marry  me  ;  that  he  has  sworn 
to  do  justice  to  the  mother  of  his  child  !" 

"  His  child !"  all  exclaimed. 

"  Speak,  Foster,  is  this  true  ?  Speak  and  give  the  lie  to  this 
mad  woman  !     Say  that  she  raves." 

"  Ha,  ha !  He  can't— he  can't,"  Peleg  almost  screamed.  "  He 
knows  it  is  true,  and  let  him  deny  it  if  he  dai-e !" 


36  BUXCE's   TEX    CENT    XOVEf^S. 

"Speak,  Foster  Dalton,  speak!''  thundered  the  old  man, 
*'  and  if  you  can,  deny  this  dreadful  thing'." 

But  Foster  spoke  not.  Turning  away  his  head,  he  hissed  a 
curse  between  his  teeth. 

"  Then  it  is  true  !"  shouted  Hiram.     "  True !  stand  from  him 
all !  Away !   Touch  him  not !  there  is  a  taint  upon  him  !"  and 
the  old  man  rushed  towards  his  son,  and  seizing  him  by  the 
arm,  dragged  him  to  the  centre  of  the  apartment. 

All  was  confusion.  Mary  Maythorne,  overcome  with  fear 
and  grief,  fainted  in  the  arms  of  Creighton  Herbert,  and  was 
borne  from  the  room,  followed  by  her  parents  and  her  brides- 
maid, while  the  woman  who  had  been  the  cause  of  this  sudden 
change  of  scene,  stood  motionless,  holding  her  child,  by  Peleg 
Bryce's  side. 

"  Once  more  !"  asked  Hiram,  seizing  his  son  by  the  shoulder, 
and  looking  him  in  the  face,  with  an  expression  of  dreadful  de- 
termination, "  once  more  I  ask  you,  is  this  true  ?" 

"  It  is !  It  is  !  exclaimed  Lucy  Thornton.  "  Oh,  believe  me  !" 

"  Silence,  woman !    Answer,  boy !" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Foster,  in  a  dogged  way. 

"  Then,  as  there  is  a  God  of  justice  above  us,  you  shall  do 
her  justice.    You  shall  marry  her." 

'*  Marry  her !"  exclaimed  Foster.     "  Never." 

"  You  shall !  Here,  now,  before  these  witnesses,  or,  if  you 
do  not,  111  have  you  dragged  away  to  prison.  By  the  law  of 
this  State,  and  you  know  it,  this  is  a  crime  punishable  severely, 
and  as  I  live,  unless  you  consent  to  take  this  injured  woman  as 
your  wife,  the  rigor  of  the  law  shall  fall  on  you." 

"Here,  Mr.  Woodly,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  minister, 
"  Make  this  man  and  woman,  man  and  wife,  and  let  the  words 
be  short  and  few." 

It  was  done,  and  while  Mary  Maythorne  lay  all  insensible  in 
her  bridal  state,  above.  Foster  Dalton  became  the  husband  of 
Lucy  Thornton. 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  37 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  LITTLE  over  a  year  after  the  events  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  Lucy  Thornton,  the  wife  of  Foster  Dalton,  sat  by  the 
side  of  her  sick  infant,  watching  for  the  return  of  her  truant 
husband.  For  two  days  she  had  not  seen  him  ;  for  more  than 
a  week  he  had  not  spoken  to  her,  save  in  terms  of  anger  or 
reproach,  and  her  heart  was  well  nigh  broken. 

"  Alas  !"  she  murmured,  while  the  big  tears  coursed  down 
her  pale  and  care-worn  cheeks,  "  what  have  I  done  that  he 
should  treat  me  thus  ?  What  can  it  be  that  keeps  him  from 
his  home  and  from  his  poor  sick  child  ?  /am  used  to  neglect, 
for  since  the  day  when  he  yielded  to  the  command  of  his  stern 
father,  and  in  fear  of  the  law,  made  me  his  wife,  he  has  not 
given  me  one  kind  look  or  one  kind  word.  Oh,  Heaven ! 
what  have  I  done,  that  I  should  suffer  so  ?  My  punishment  is 
greater  than  I  can  bear.  If  I  did  wrong  in  loving  him  as  I 
did,  and  listened  with  too  credulous  ears  to  his  vows  and  prom- 
ises, I  have  repented  in  tears  and  sorrowing.  But  this  poor 
ifcild,  this  innocent  darling.  Oh,  turn  its  father's  heart  towards 
it,  and  let  its  gentle  influence  bring  the  wanderer  back." 

"Drink,  mamma,  drink,"  the  infant  moaned,  through  its 
parched  lips,  and  making  a  feeble  effort  to  raise  its  head. 

"  There,  darling,  there,"  said  its  mother,  soothingly,  giving 
the  poor  little  sufferer  what  it  asked  for.  "  Alas,  the  fever 
does  not  abate.  It  is  nearly  time  for  me  to  give  the  medicine 
the  doctor  ordered,  and  I  must  go  to  the  village  for  it — yet  there 
is  no  one  to  remain  here  while  I  am  gone.  Nancy  promised 
to  come  before  this.  I  wish  she  Avould  hasten,  for  I  dare  not 
leave  the  little  angel  alone." 

As  Lucy  uttered  these  words  she  rose,,  and  leavings  the  era- 


38  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

die,  in  which  her  child  lay  tossing  restlessly,  she  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  out.  But  Nancy  was  not  in  sight.  As  she 
passed  a  looking-glass  which  hung  against  the  wall,  she  paused 
for  a  moment,  and  surveyed  her  emaciated  face. 

"  How  pale  I  am  !  The  roses  he  used  to  praise  so,  have  all 
faded  from  my  cheeks.  The  poor  beauty  which  once  attracted 
him  has  passed  away  forever.  If  I  should  fall  sick  too,  what 
would  become  of  my  poor  child  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  what  shall  I 
do?" 

As  she  resumed  her  place  by  the  side  of  the  cradle,  a  knock 
was  heard  at  the  door.  She  rose  at  once  and  opened  it,  ho- 
ping it  might  be  her  husband,  but  she  was  disappointed  by 
the  sight  of  Lige  Bates,  who  stood  outside  with  a  very  deject- 
ed expression  upon  his  face. 

"  Good  morn'n,  Miss  Dalton,"  said  Lige,  entering,  hat  in 
hand,  and  holding  out  one  of  his  rough  paws  in  a  friendly 
way  ;  ''  be  you  alone  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Bates,  I  am  alone." 

"  Don't  call  me  Mister  Bates  ;  call  me  Lige,  or  Lijah,  if  you 
please.  It  sounds  more  kindly.  Ye  see,  I've  come  to  see  you, 
in  the  first  place  on  my  own  hook  ;  cause  Nancy  and  me  felt-^-a 
kinder  anxious  about  you  and  the  sick  baby,  and  then  when*E 
was  coming  away,  old  Hiram  Dalton,  he  thought  he  would 
come  too  ;  so  we  left  Nancy,  who  said  she  had  promised  to 
come  over  herself,  to  take  care  of  the  old  lady,  and  me  and 
the  old  man  come  together  across  lots.  He's  outside  yonder 
now.  He  wouldn't  come  in  'till  I  had  sort  o'  reconoitered 
first,  as  he  don't  want  to  meet  that  pesky  cuss — .  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Ye  see,  the  fact  is,  he  don't  care  about  seeing  your 
husband  just  now." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  understand.  Tell  him  to  come  in  at  once, 
please.  Tell  him  I  am  alone,  and  shall  be  so'happy  to  see  him." 

Lio-e  went  to  the  door  and  shouted  to  Hiram  Dalton,  who 


BEOKEN  VOW,  OR  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE.         39 
I 

was  standing  a  short  distance  down  the  road,  and  who  no 
sooner  heard  his  voice  than  he  started  on  a  round  trot  for 
the  house,  the  door  of  which  he  soon  entered  out  of  breath. 

"  This  is  kind  of  you,"  said  Lucy,  taking  him  by  the  hand, 
and  leading  him  to  a  seat.     "  Very  kind." 

"  Bless  5'our  pale  face,"  said  Hiram,  kissing  her  on  both 
cheeks,  and  making  her  sit  upon  his  lap.     "  I  was  so  anxious 
P'  about  you,  that  I  could  not  stay  away  any  longer." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  you  are  ever  good." 

"  Well,  I  'spose,"  said  Lige,  moving  towards  the  door,  "  I'd 
better  clear,  hadn't  I  ?" 
P       "  No  ;  stay,  Lige,"  the  old  man  replied,  "  you  may  be  wanted." 

"  All  right." 

"  And  how  is  the  little  one  ?"  asked  the  old  man.  "  Better, 
I  hope." 

"  No,  no  better.  Worse,  I  fear.  The  poor  darling  suffers 
dreadfully,"  she  answered,  going  to  the  cradle.  "  She  sleeps 
now,  but  she  will  wake  soon.     She  cannot  sleep  for  pain." 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  said  Hiram,  leaning  over  the  cradle,  and 
watching  the  child  as  it  lay  in  a  feverish  sleep.     "  It  looks 
.  very  bad." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  taken  from  me,"  said  Lucy,  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  cheek. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Hiram,  soothingly.  *'  You  must  not 
cry,  daughter  !  You  must  not  cry.  Hope  for  the  best.  Don't 
look  at  the  black  side  of  things.  Your  fears  exaggerate  the 
danger.     Have  you  a  good  doctor  ?" 

"  I  think  so.  He  gives  me  hope,  and  seems  to  be  kind  and 
skillful." 

"  Ah,  there  is  a  Doctor  I  wish  you  could  get,  but " 

k       "  Oh,  I  will  send  for  any  one,  you  think '* 

Bl    "  Yes,  but  he  is  not  here.     He  has  gone  to  New  York,  and 
will  not  be  back  for  sometime." 


40  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Doctor  Herbert  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  wish  he  were  here." 

"  I  heard,"  said  Lige,  with  a  knowing  look,  that  he  would  be 
back  to-day.  But  you  would  not  know  him  he  is  changed  so. 
He  used  to  be  as  glum  as  a  disappointed  politician,  and  looked 
as  miserable  as  a  blighted  squash  ;  but  now,  he's  just  as  full  of 
fun  as  a  sucking  pig,  and  looks  as  happy  as  a  pedlar  arter  a 
good  trade.     He  is  going  to  be " 

"  Shut  up,"  said  old  Hiram  aside  to  Lige,  and  giving  him  a 
poke  in  the  ribs  with  his  elbow,  "  AVhat  do  you  want  to  be 
blabbing  that  out  for  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  when  he  returns,  he  will  come  in  and  see  the 
baby,  and  he  and  Doctor  Parker  might  consult  together,"  said 
Lucy,  anxiously. 

"  To  be  sure  he  will,"  said  Hiram.  "  He  has  a  heart  as  big 
as  all  out-doors.  He'd  come  if  he  broke  his  neck.  But  I 
doubt  his  return  very  soon.  He  is  gone  to  York  on  very  im- 
portant business.  But  if  the  child  gets  no  better,  we  shall 
have  to  try  and  get  him  here.  Don't  look  so  sad.  The  little 
darling  will  get  along  without  him,  never  fear.  So  don't  be 
frightened." 

"I  cannot  think  that  Heaven  will  take  from  me  the  only 
happiness  and  comfort  I  have  left." 

♦'  No,  no.  Heaven  is  ever  merciful.  So  cheer  up.  But  I 
must  be  going  now.     I  only  came  to  stay  a  moment." 

"  So  soon  I" 

"  Well,  you  see,  Lucy,  child,  I  have  a  sick  patient  at  home, 
myself.     Poor  Granny  is  very  bad." 

"  Does  she  get  no  better  ?" 

"  Xo,  and  never  will  I  fear.  The  poor  old  woman  has  never 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  that  dreadful  day.  The  thought 
of  it  never  leaves  her  mind.  I  believe  she  mourns  over  it  even 
in  her  sleep.     She  loved  that  boy  so.     Her  whole  soul  seemed 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  41 

to  be  centered  in  him.  She  looked  upon  him  as  a  model  of 
truth  and  goodness,  and  would  have  died  to  render  him  happy. 
The  knowledge  of  his  wickedness  fell  upon  her  like  a  thunder- 
bolt, and  she  has  never  held  up  her  head  since.  Heigh  ho ! 
her  grey  hairs  will,  I  fear,  be  brought  down  with  sorrow  to  the 
grave." 

"  Alas !"  exclaimed  Lucy,  "  It  was  all  my  fault.  Had  I 
not  acted  so  wickedly,  she  might  have  still  been  happy.  I 
broke  her  heart,  and  robbed  her  of  her  darling  child,  and  now 
Heaven  punishes  me  by  taking  mine.  Would  that  I  had  died 
when  1  lay  in  my  cradle." 

"  Tush  !  Tush !  Lucy.  Don't  talk  that  way.  You  were  the 
dupe  of  a  wretched,  heartless,  disobedient,  ungrateful  son. 
You  sinned  through  your  love  and  your  blind  faith  in  his  truth. 
Heaven  has  pardoned  you,  and  your  child  will  be  spared,  I 
hope,  to  make  its  mother  happy." 

"  But,  but — "  said  Lucy — "  even  if  it  lives " 

"  Well,  well,  what  more  can  you  desire  ?  You  have  told  mo 
that  Foster  makes  you  happy.  That  he  is  good  and  kind,  and 
that  you  have  nothing  to  complain  of." 

"  I  do  not  complain." 

"  Is  it  not  true  ?     Does  he  not  make  you  happy  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  ;  very — very  happy." 

"  Well,  then,  you  have  no  right  to  wish  you  had  died  in  your 
cradle.  You  ought  to  wish  to  live  to  make  him  happy  in  re- 
turn. You  are  both  young — life  is  all  before  you,  and  you 
must  be  contented  to  take  the  evil  with  the  good.  Now  were 
it  I — I  might  wish  to  be  gone,  for  I  have  nothing  left  to  live  for." 

"  You  forget  your  old  mother." 

"  No,  no  ;  1  do  not  forget  her.  But  her  grief  and  mine  is 
one,  and  when  I  say  I  am  alone,"  Hiram  exclaimed  mournfully, 
"you  forget,  perhaps,  that  I  still  love  ray  poor,  misguided, 
wicked  boy." 


42  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  But  since  our  mamage  he  has  been  so  much  with  you,  he 
has  visited  you  often,  and " 

"  He !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  rising  from  the  chair  into 
which  he  had  sank.  "  He  ?  He  has  not  put  his  foot  across  the 
threshold  of  my  door,  not  even  to  see  his  poor  old  Granny !" 

"  How  ?  He  has  told  me  a  hundred  times  in  leaving  the 
house,  that  he  was  going  to  see  you." 

"  Then  he  has  lied !"  cried  the  old  man,  angrily.  "  Lied !  He 
has  never  been  near  me.  But  I  don't  care,  I  shall  never  ask 
him.  If  it  pleases  him  to  remain  away,  it  pleases  me.  If  he 
is  proud,  I  am  proud  too,  and  I  shall  not  run  after  him.  We 
shall  see  who  holds  out  the  longest." 

"  But,"  exclaimed  Lucy,  anxiously,  "  if  he  does  not  go  to  your 
house,  where  does  he  stay  so  often  and  so  long  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  Hiram,  angrily,  "  I  only  know  that 
he  has  lied — for  the  mere  sake  of  lying,  I  suppose.  He  loves 
me  no  more,  because  I  would  not  encourage  him  in  his  wicked- 
ness ;  because  I  opposed  my  will  to  his,  and  because  I  forced 
him,  as  an  act  of  simple  duty,  to  give  his  child  a  name  and 
keep  his  oaths  to  you.  Well,  the  worst  has  happened.  He 
cannot  wound  his  poor  old  Granny's  heart,  or  mine,  more  than 
he  has,  and  we  must  bear  it  all  as  best  we  may." 

Lucy  turned  away.  Her  heaii;  was  full.  She  had  comforted 
herself  with  the  idea  that  her  husband,  though  he  loved  her 
not,  had  not  deceived  her  ;  that  he  passed  the  time  he  spent 
away  from  her,  at  home  with  his  father,  and  now  that  the 
dreadful  truth  broke  upon  her,  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her 
feelings,  and  sitting  by  her  sick  child,  she  gave  way  to  her  teare. 

The  old  man  gazed  upon  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  shaking 
his  head  and  sighing,  he  went  to  her,  and  laying  his  hands 
upon  her  shoulders,  said, 

'•'  Lucy.     Tell  me  the  truth." 

Slie  looked  up  through  her  tears,  and  hesitated  for  a  mo- 


BROKEN    VOW,  OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  43 


ment,  ere  she  rose,  and  throwing  herself  into  the  ohl  man's 
arms,  exclaimed,  "  He  has  deceived  me  !  He  will  break  my 
heart." 

"  Lucy  !"  said  the  old  man,  half  reproachfully,  "  You,  too, 
you  have  deceived  me.  You  have  not  spoken  the  truth,  when 
you  said  just  now,  your  husband  made  you  happy." 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  I  have  deceived  you,  for  I 
would  have  deceived  myself.  But  I  can  do  so  no  longer.  The 
truth  is  too  plain  and  I  can  no  more  resist  it.  I  must  tell  you 
all,  though  it  kill  me.  You  can  understand,  for  you  loved  him 
too,  and  know  how  he  has  wrung  your  heart.  You  will  know 
how  he  has  wrung  mine,  when  I  tell  you,  tliat  since  the  day  I 
became  his  wife,  Foster  has  made  me  the  most  wretched  of 
women.  Not  a  word,  not  a  look  of  affection  ;  nothing  but 
indifference  or  anger." 

''  The  scoundrel !"  exclaimed  Hiram,  striking  his  cane  upon 
the  floor  with  energy.    "  The  cold-hearted  villain  !" 

"  Say,  old  man,"  said  Lige,  who  had  stood  by,  an  excited 
looker-on ;  "  Say,  Mr.  Dalton,  a  good  licking  would  do  him 
good.  Just  you  let  me  have  one  chance  at  him,  and  I'll 
knock  a  little  goodness  into  him,  or  a  deuced  sight  of  badness 
out  of  him." 

'<  Hush,  Lige,  hush  !" 
ft"  Would  that  you  had  not  forced  him  into  this  marriage.     I 

fear " 

If"  Go  on,  go  on,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  "  tell  me  all,  all." 

"  You  will  believe  that  I  am  wretched,  when  I  tell  you  that 
for  eight  days  together,  he  has  remained  away  from  me,  with- 
out my  hearing  anything  of  him,  and  that  now,  here  before  you 
came  in,  I  had  been  sitting,  watching  and  weeping,  over  my 
poor  child,  for  two  entire  days  and  nights,  without  once  seeing 
him." 

"  This  is  dreadful.     But  I'll  see  about  it.     So  far  as  I  am 


I 


44  buxce's  ten  cent  novels. 

concerned,  I  would  never  have  spoken  to  him  again.  So  long 
as  his  conduct  affected  only  me.  I  should  have  remained  si- 
lent. I  was  resigned  to  his  ingratitude,  but  since  he  is  acting 
thus,  since  he  makes  you  the  victim  of  his  wicked  nature,  I 
will  see  to  it.  Yes,  yes,  he  shall  find  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
duty  of  a  father." 

"  No,  no  !"  exclaimed  Lucy.  "  You  must  not !  You  do  not 
know  the  consequences  of  interfering  with  him.  Foster  is  so 
violent,  and,  then,  besides,  it  would  do  no  good.  It  would  only 
exasperate  him." 

*'  Exasperate  him  !  I  ought  to  cane  him.  It  is  no  use  to  al- 
low him  to  go  o%in  this  way.  It  is  wicked,  and  I  will  put  a 
stop  to  it.    You  cannot  live  so,  Lucy." 

*'  But  do  not,"  Lucy  went  on,  "  do  not  interfere.  Perhaps 
in  time  he  will  change." 

"  He  ?  Never !  The  scoundrel.  He  will  go  on  from  bad  to 
worse.  God  help  me  !  I  never  come  here  I  do  not  have  fresh 
cause  of  unhappiness." 

"  It's  a  denied  shame,"  exclaimed  Lige,  as  he  rocked  the 
cradle  in  a  fearful  manner,  "  Gol  darn  him !  I'd  like  to  have  the 
doctoring  of  his  case.     Ef  I  wouldn't " 

"Yes,  yes,  Lige,"  said  Lucy.  "I  know  you  mean  well 
enough — but  you  must  not  speak  so." 

"  I  can't  help  it !  I  feel  as  though  I  had  a  saw  mill  in  my 
head — and  my  fingers  itch  to  git  hold  on  him,  the  mean,  cow- 
ardly cuss.    It's  none  o'  my  bisiness,  but " 

"  Then  shut  up !"  said  the  old  man,  walking  up  and  do\vn. 

"  I  can't  shut  up !  It  makes  me  mad.  It  riles  all  the  man  there 
is  in  me,  to  hear  of  a  bullet-hearted,  cowardly,  sap-headed,  card- 
playing,  jack-turning  critter,  like  he  is,  abusing  his  wife — a 
poor,  mis'abul,  milk-faced,  slinky  thing ;  rich  as  you  be,  I  tell 
you  I  can't  shut  up — 1  feel  as  though  I'd  been  apinted  a  com- 
mittee of  one  to  give  him  a  rasping !    There.     I've  had  my 


BROKEN    VOW,    OK   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  45 

say,  and  now  go  in  !  I'm  dumb — and  all  I've  got  to  say  further, 
is,  that  I  think,  old  man,  you'd  better  keep  your  finger  out  o' 
the  pie,  unless  you  make  up  your  mind  to  lick  him,  or  let  me 
do  it  for  you.  That  will  be  the  best  way,  and  will  save  all 
further  trouble." 

"  No,  no  !  Elijah,  you  must  not  interfere.    It  woiUd  be  dread- 
ful," said  Lucy. 

"  Leave  him  to  me  !"  exclaimed  Hiram,  "  I  won't  budge,  till 

-isee  him." 

i™"  Leave  his  punishment  to  God !"  said  Lucy,  leaning  over 
the  cradle.  "  My  darling  is  awake  again,  see  how  her  poor 
little  cheeks  burn  with  this  dreadful  fever.  And  the  medicine, 
it  is  time  to  give  it  to  her,  and " 

I"  I'll  git  it.    Where  is  it  ?"  asked  Lige. 
"  Ah,  I  fear  it  is  too  late  !"  she  exclaimed.     "  See,  see,  it 
sps  for  breath  !  Oh,  God,  my  poor  child  is  dying !" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Hiram,  raising  the  child  in  his  arms,  "  on  the 
contrary  it  looks  better  ;  see,  its  little  forehead  is  quite  moist. 
Give  it  a  drink.  It  is  better,  I  know  it  is  !"  and  he  gave  the 
child  to  its  mother,  and  walked  up  and  down,  exclaiming  : 

"  The  hard-hearted  wretch,  to  leave  his  child  in  a  condition 
like  this  !  Ah,  he  was  a  bad  son,  how  could  he  be  any  thing 
but  a  bad  father  ?" 

As  he  uttered  these  words  the  door  opened  and  Foster  Dal- 
ton  entered  the  room. 

His  face  bore  marks  of  recent  dissipation  ;  his  dress  was 
slovenly,  and  his  whole  appearance  was  that  of  a  reckless  and 
abandoned  man. 

He  started  on  seeing  his  father,  and  then,  recovering  him- 
self, he  said,  without  a  word  of  salutation  : 

"  If  you  speak  of  me,  you  are  blunt,  to  say  the  IcEist." 
pr<  So  it  is  you  at  last,  boy,  is  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  me,"  he  replied,  doggedly,  sitting  and  lighting  a 

ar,  which  he  smoked  in  a  cool  and  nonchalant  manner. 


46  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Promise  me  you  will  not  quarrel  v/ith  him,"  said  Lucy  in  a 
low  voice,  appealing-  to  the  old  man.     "  Do  promise  me." 

"•  AVell,"  said  Hiram,  with  an  efiPort  at  self-control,  "  if  I  do 
not  speak,  I  must  go.  I  will  not  answer  for  myself  if  I  remain. 
Perhaps,  now  that  I  see  him,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  be  si- 
lent. I  will  go,  and  take  another  opportunity.  Good-by, 
daughter, '  he  said,  kissing  her,  "  good-by,  I  will  send  Nancy 
over  to  you."  Then  going  to  his  son,  he  said,  "  Foster  Dal- 
ton !" 

"  Well,  Sir !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  rising  and  looking 
at  his  father  in  a  defiant  manner.     "  Well  ?" 

A  burst  of  indignation  was  on  the  old  man's  lips,  and  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  giving  vent  to  it,  but  an  imploring  look 
from  Lucy,  checked  him,  and  suppressing  his  anger,  he  said, 
'•  I  would  not  smoke  if  I  were  you,  your  child  will  suffer  from 
it.     Come,  Lige,  let  us  be  gone." 

**  Hold  on,"  exclaimed  Lige.  "  Hold  on  a  minute.  I  can't 
go  yet.  I  can't  go  till  I  have  had  my  say ;"  whereupon  he 
walked  up  to  Foster,  and  doubling  his  fist,  which  looked 
like  an  over-sized  ham,  and  shaking  it  in  the  face  of  the  young 
man,  he  said,  "  See,  here,  Foster  Dalton  !" 

"  Well,  Sir.    What  do  you  want  ?" 

.    "  What  do  I  want  ?"  he  repeated  ;  "  I  want  to "  but 

'ere  he  could  finish  the  sentence  Lucy  placed  herself  between 
him  and  her  husband,  and  Hiram  taking  him  by  the  shoulders, 
half-pushed,  half-pulled  him  to  the  door. 

"  I'll  attend  to  you  some  other  time,"  he  shouted,  as  he  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  "  What  I've  got  to  give  you,  won't  be 
none  the  worse  for  keeping,"  and  shaking  his  fist  in  the  air, 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  away,  muttering  impreca- 
tions both  loud  and  deep. 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  47 


CHAPTER  IV. 

For  some  time  after  Hiram  and  Lige  Bates  had  left  the 
lOuse,  neither  Lucy  or  her  husband  spoke  a  word.  Foster 
resumed  his  seat,  and  continued  to  smoke  his  cigar  in  silence, 
then  laying  it  down  he  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  unsteady 
steps.  At  last  Lucy  placed  the  infant,  whom  she  had  hushed 
once  more  to  sleep,  in  its  cradle,  and  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, said, 

"  You  look  tired  and  worried,  dear.  Is  there  anything  you 
want  ?     Shall  I  prepare  something  to  eat  for  you  ?" 

"  No.  I  need  nothing.  But  you  are  mistaken,  I  am  neither 
fatigued  or  worried." 

"  But  you  look  so  pale,  so " 

"  It  is  very  likely." 

'*'  You  are  not  sick  ?" 

"  No.    I  am  not.    Is  my  paleness  a  crime  ?" 

"  Crime !  no.    But  I  feared " 

"  You  need  have  no  fears  of  me.  I  never  was  better  in  all 
my  life,"  said  Foster,  curtly,  taking  up  a  paper  and  glancing 
over  its  contents. 

There  was  silence  again  for  some  moments,  and  then  Lucy 
going  to  him  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  said,  "  I 
am  so  glad  you  have  come  home,  Foster.  I  have  been  so  anx- 
ious for  our  child." 

"Has  not  Doctor  been  here?  He  told  me  sh 3  was  get- 
ting better." 

"  Yes,  but  within  the  past  two  days,  she  has  grown  worse." 
m  "  Is  that  my  fault  ?" 

*'  And  I  have  been  all  alone,  for  two  days  I " 


48  bunce's  ten  C'rxt  novels. 

"  Well,  I  heard  you.  You  need  not  repeat  it.  I  know  I 
have  been  away  for  two  days.     What  then  ?" 

"  I  feared,  Foster,  that  our  child  might  die,  ai;d  you  away." 

"  Pshaw  !  What  was  my  father  doing  here  ?"  he  asked, 
removing  her  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and  turning  towards  her 
sharply. 

"  He  merely  stepped  in  to  see  me,  as  he  passed." 

*•  And  you  were  sj^eakiug  of  me,  were  you  not  ?  I  inter- 
rupted a  pleasant  conversation,  I  fear." 

"  You  know  your  father  is  one  of  the  best  of  men." 

"  You  ought  to  say  nothing  against  him,  at  any  rate.  I  sup- 
pose I  caught  it,  did  I  not  ?" 

"  You  heard  the  worst  that  he  said,  as  you  entered  the  room. 
He  said  you  had  been — a — but " 

"  A  bad  son  and  must  be  a  bad  husband.  Yes,  I  heard  it. 
You  need  not  be  ashamed  to  repeat  it,  if  you  could  listen  to  it?" 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  Foster.     You  know  he  is  hasty." 

"  And,  I  suppose,  he  told  you  I  had  not  been  to  see  him 
since  our  marriage,  did  he  not  ?  Well,  he  spoke  the  truth,  I 
have  not.  AVhat  had  I  to  do  there  ?  I  should  have  liked  to 
have  seen  the  old  lady,  if  I  could  have  done  so  without  seeing 
him  ;  but  why  should  I  go  to  his  house  to  hear  nothing  but  re- 
proaches or  curses  ?    I  don't  fancy  either." 

"  Why  have  you  told  me  so  often  then,  that  you  went  there  ?" 

"  Because — because,"  he  said,  hesitating  at  first,  and  then 
with  a  reckless  air,  "  because  it  suited  my  purpose.  I  might 
as  well  tell  you  that  as  anything  else.  But  what  has  he  been 
doing  here  for  the  past  two  hours.  He  has  been  saying  some- 
thing— and  that  low-lived  lout,  Lige  Bates,  too, — what  was  it  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  moment ;  besides,  he  has  not  been  here  more 
than  half  an  hour."  ^ 

"  Well,  then,  half  an  hour  ;  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Nothing  bad  of  you." 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  49 

**  Bad  or  good,  lie  shall  come  here  no  more,"  exclaimed  Fos- 
ter, rising  angrily.     "  I  won't  have  him  here.    You  understand 
me.    Tell  him  so." 
^*  I  cannot,  Foster.    Will  not." 

"Won't  you?  then  I  will,  and  plainly,  too.  I  won't  have 
anybody  interfering  in  my  domestic  affairs.  No  third  party 
has  a  right  to  do  so.  It  always  makes  trouble.  Let  him  mind 
his  own  business.  He  has  tampered  too  much  with  mine  al- 
ready. I  suppose  he  has  called  me  this,  that,  and  the  other, — 
everything  he  could  lay  his  tongue  to — a  scoundrel,  a  knave,  a 
wretch  !  A  villain — that  is  his  favorite  word — a  villain  ! 
What  does  he  want  ?  He  insisted  upon  our  being  married — 
and  we  are  married.  He  insisted  that  I  should  do  you  justice. 
I  have  done  you  justice.  I  have  done  everything  he  wished. 
What  does  he  want  more  I 

"Nothing,  dear  Foster,  nothing!  He  has  called  you  no- 
names — he  has  said  nothing,  except " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !"  laughed  Foster.     '•  Nothing  bad — nothing 
Ulcept  compliments.     Oh,  yes.     Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

"  Oh,  Foster,  do  not  speak  so.  Pray  do  not.  You  make- 
me  shudder.  You  will  kill  me  !"  she  exclaimed,  falling  into  a 
chair,  and  weeping  bitterly. 

"  Bah  !"  he  ejaculated.     "  Tears  again !     Always  tears  !" 
»  "  How  can  I  restrain  them  ?" 

i^i.  Then  you  should  not  have  married  me.  It  is  not  a  pru- 
dent thing  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Destiny,  and  Destiny  did  not 
intend  us  for  each  other !" 

Just  as  he  finished  speaking,  the  door  opened,  and  old  Peleg- 

Biyce  popped  his  villainous  red  head  into  the  room.     He  was 

uglier  than  ever,  and  as  his  quick  eye  seemed  to  perceive  the 

true  state  of  affairs  at  a  glance,  it  lit  up  with  an  expression 

;  which  would  have  done  justice  to  the  fiend  of  discord. 

Neither  Lucy  or  her  husband  saw  him  at  first,  and  it  was 


60  bunce's  ten  cent  notels. 

not  until  he  spoke,  that  either  of  them  became  aware  of  his 
presence, 

"  I  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  he  whined,  as  be  edged  himself 
into  the  room,  through  the  smallest  possible  opening  between 
the  door  and  the  wall.  "  The  door  was  open,  and  so  I  took 
the  liberty  of  coming  in,  just  to  see  how  you  both  were." 

"  We  are  both  well,  if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you  to  hear 
it,"  said  Foster,  brusquely. 

"  Ha  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  very  glad ;  because  I  should  not 
have  thought  it  by  your  looks.  You  look  sort  o'  queer,  both 
of  you." 

"  The  baby  is  sick,  you  know,  Peleg,"  said  Lucy,  "  and  that 
makes  us  look  anxious." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  suppose  so.  It  can't  be  anything  else,  I  am 
sure.  I  just  called  upon  my  old  friend  and  your  father,  Hiram 
Dalton,  but  I  saw  no  one  but  old  Granny.  He  had  gone  out, 
they  said." 

"Then  you  have  missed  him  twice,"  said  Foster,  "  for  he  has 
just  left  here." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Peleg,  looking  at  Lucy.  "  Just  left 
here  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lucy.     "  He  has  just  paid  us  a  visit." 

"  Indeed  !  What  a  pleasure  it  must  have  been  to  him  to  see 
his  two  children,  and  find  them  so  happy  together.  What  a 
comfort  it  must  be  to  him.  And  how  beautiful  it  is  to  think 
that  the  loving  father  and  son  are  once  more  united.  And 
what  a  comfort  it  must  be  to  you  both,  eh  ?" 

"  You  forget  that  the  dangerous  illness  of  our  child — "  Lucy 
began  to  say — 

"  Ah,  it  will  get  better !  It  will  be  well  soon,  and  happy, 
too,  like  its  father  and  mother.  Everybody  is  happy  now-a- 
days.     Even  Mary  Maythorne." 

"  Mary  Maythorne  !"  muttered  Foster  Dalton,  while  a  dark 
cloud  overshadowed  his  face. 


«  BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  51 

I"  Mary  Maythorne,"  asked  Lucy.     "  What  of  her  ?" 

["  Why,   haven't  you  heard  the   news  ?    Yes,  even  Mary^ 
taythorne,  poor  thing,  has  found  consolation,  and  forgotten 
her  first  unhappy  love  in  the  arms  of " 

"  Who  ?  Who  ?"  asked  Foster,  turning  quickly  round,  and 
speaking  in  an  agitated  manner, 

"  Why,  can't  you  guess  ?"  said  Pelcg,  maliciously,  rubbing 
his  ugly  hands,  and  grinning  like  a  hyena.  "  To  a  rich  gentle- 
man, from  New  York  ;  to  a  handsome,  smart  fellow,  and  is 
going  to  live  in  a  big  house  in  the  city,  among  grand  folks." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say."  Foster  interrupted,  "  that " 

"  Why  are  yon  so  agitated,  Foster  ?"  asked  Lucy.  "  This^ 
seems  to  interest  you  very  much." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all — ^but  I  am  curious." 

"  Why,  who  should  she  marry  ?"  Peleg  continued.  "  WhO' 
but  the  handsome  groomsman  at  your  first  marriage.  I  say 
first  you  know,  because,  it  would  have  been,  but  for  a  little  ac- 
cident." 

"  Do  you  mean  Creighton  Herbert  ?"  asked  Foster. 

"  To  be  sure.  He  was  in  love  with  her  then,  and  this  morn- 
ing he  came  back  suddenly  from  Now  York,  went  right  to  her 
house,  and  in  half  an  hour  afterwards,  to  the  wonder  of  every- 
body, they  were  married,  as  fast  as  parson  Woodly  could  jine- 
'em.  They  leave  for  the  city  this  afternoon,  as  happy  as  two- 
turtle  doves.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  how  strange  things  do> 
come  about,  to  be  sure." 

^^"  Married,  and  to  him  !"  exclaimed  Foster  to  himself. 
"**  She  could  not  have  done  better,  you  know  ;  and  she  is 
so  handsome,  that  rich  as  he  is,  he  could  not  have  found  a 
wife  that  would  do  him  more  credit,  could  he  ?"  asked  old  Pe- 
leg with  the  malice  of  a  demon. 

t" I  am  glad  of  it,  I  am  sure,"  said  Lucy.    "I  hope  she  may 
happy." 


52  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Well,"  said  Peleg,  "  I  hardly  know  how  it  will  turn  out  un- 
der the  circumstances.    You  see " 

"  You  are  right,  Peleg — ^right !"  said  Foster.  There  is  no 
telling  whether  she  will  be  happy  or  not."  Then  turning  away, 
he  muttered  to  himself :    "  Married,  and  to  him  !" 

"  If  Mr.  Creighton  Herbert,"  Peleg  went  on,  "  should  hap- 
pen to  be  a  jealous  man,  well,  then,  there  might^may-be,  be 
trouble,  and  she  might  be  very  miserable  after  all.  'Specially 
if  she  didn't  git  over  her  first  love  before  she  took  up  with 
the  new." 

"  Bah,  man !"  exclaimed  Foster,  "  she  is  rich.  She  will 
live  in  New  York,  among  the  rich  and  gay.  How  can  she  be 
otherwise  than  happy  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  you  aint  always  sure,  Mr.  Foster." 

Foster  made  no  reply,  but  turning  away,  he  took  a  seat  in 
a  chair  near  the  table,  and  seemed  to  be  lost  in  sad  reflections. 

Lucy  watched  him  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  going  to 
where  he  sat,  and  standing  by  his  side,  she  asked  : 

"  Foster,  of  what  are  you  thinking  so  geriously  ?" 

Foster  looked  up,  and,  with  evident  embarrassment,  said  : 

"  I — oh,  nothing !" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dalton,"  said  Peleg,  with  his  hon-id  whine,  "  it  is 
very  natural  that  he  should  be  surprised,  for  after  all  it  is  a 
strange  thing,  this  marriage.  Don't  you  remember,  Foster 
Dalton,  what  I  said,  when  I  told  you  that  we  are  never  sure  of 
anything  until  we've  got  it.  I  said,"  he  went  on  whispering 
in  Foster  ear,  "  that  a  marriage  broken  off,  always  left  one 
broken  heart  behind,  eh  ?" 

'•  I  remenjber  one  thing,  Peleg  Bryce,"  said  Foster  angrily. 

"  And  what  is  that  ?" 

"  That  you  were  always  known  for  a  meddlesome  old  fool, 
and  that  you  never  fail  of  making  yourself  unpleasant  and 
disagreeable." 


BROKEN  VOW,  OR  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE.        53 

"  AVhat  do  you  mean,  Foster  ?    I'm  sure " 


"  I  mean  that  you  are  unwelcome — you  and  your  news  !" 

"  But  I  had  no  bad  intentions "- 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  him,  Foster,"  said  Lucy.  "  He 
means  no  harm." 

"  Then  let  him  be  quiet,  if  he  would  remain.  I  will  not 
listen  to  his  taunts." 

"  As  you  please,"  whined  Peleg.  "  ^s  you  please,  Foster 
Dalton.  I  sha'nt  say  another  word,  except  to  wish  you  good 
day.  I  only  stopped  to  see  how  you  were,  and  I  must  go 
home.  I  wish  you  joy — both  of  you — joy  and  happiness. 
Good  day !"  and  he  wormed  himself  out  of  the  room,  mutter- 
ing, as  he  gained  the  open  air  : 

"  Well,  I  have  sown  the  seed.  Now  to  wait  for  the  fruit. 
It  will  appear  in  good  time." 

As  soon  as  Peleg  had  left  the  room,  Lucy  went  up  to  her 
husband,  and  looking  him  in  the  face,  said  : 

"  Foster  Dalton,  shall  I  tell  you  why  you  were  so  agitated 
just  now,  when  Peleg  Bryce  told  you  that  Mary  Maythorne 
had  married  Creighton  Herbert?" 

*'  What  mean  you  ?'' 

"  It  was  because  you  still  love  her,  and  because  you  are  jeal 
ous  of  her  husband  !" 

"  0,  you  have  no  right  to  say  so.  Why  should  I  be  jealous 
of  him  ?" 

"  You  are  !    I  am  sure  of  it !" 

"  You  are  mad." 

"  No,  Foster,  I  am  not  mad.  I  was  mad  the  day  I  believed 
your  false  oaths  of  love  to  me,  and  dearly  have  I  expiated  my 
folly.  I  see  now  the  motive  of  your  conduct,  of  your  neglect, 
of  your  abandonment,  your  indifference,  and  your  crime.  I 
say  crime  ;  for  it  is  one,  to  betray  a  loving  heart  as  you  have 
betrayed  mine,  without  leaving  it  even  the  shadow  of  a  hope. 
Yes,  this  is  a  crime  ;  and  you  are  guilty  of  it, ' 


54  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"Lucy!" 

"  And  I,  who  regret  that  wliich  has  taken  place — I,  who  re- 
pent this  forced  marriage — I,  who  have  loved  you  with  an  un- 
divided heart,  who  have  sworn  more  than  devotion,  and  have 
sacrificed  my  every  wish  and  hope  to  you — what  is  left  to  me  ? 
How  have  you  treated  me  ?  With  insult  and  contempt !  But, 
be  it  so.  I  do  not  regret  that  which  I  have  done.  I  have  but 
demanded  a  right  which  was  my  due  after  all.  A  right  which 
^rou  acceeded  to  me,  and  which  I  took — a  small  portion  of 
your  existence  for  the  whole  of  mine." 

"  Lucy !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  shout  of  rage.  "  Peace.  I 
Bay !" 

*'  I  will  not  be  peaceful !  I  have  no  fear  of  you.  I  am 
stronger  than  you !  What  can  you  do  more  than  you  have 
done  ?    There  is  no  new  torture  you  can  inflict  upon  me  !" 

"  Beware,  Lucy,  beware  !     Tamper  not  with  my  wrath." 

"  You  are  right  I"  I  should  beware,  for  of  what  may  not  a 
man  be  capable,  who,  as  a  son,  has  lied  to  his  father,  as  a  hus- 
band, degraded  his  wife,  and  as  a  father,  abandoned  and  neg- 
lected his  child  ?" 

"  Silence  !"  he  shouted,  raising  his  hand  and  making  a 
movement  towards  her. 

"  Kill  me  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Kill,  but  I  will  not  be  silent  I 
Though  I  die,  I  will  die  with  the  truth  upon  my  lips  !" 

"  Hold  !"  he  cried,  still  threatening  her.  "  I  warn  you.  Re- 
tract that  which  you  have  said,  or  you  have  destroyed  the  only 
scruple  which  has  bound  me  here.  This  hour  I  leave  you, 
never,  never  to  return  to  you  again  !" 

"  What !"  she  exclaimed.  "  No,  no.  You  will  drive  me 
mad.  Do  not  go !  I  beg  your  forgiveness  for  all  that  I  have 
said.  Oh,  Foster,  listen  to  me.  If  there  remains  yet,  in  some 
corner  of  your  heart,  one  thought  of  love  for  me,  let  it  plead 
for  me  now.    If  every  spark  of  affection  has  not  died  out  in 


f 


BROKEN    VOW,  OR  THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  55 


your  soul,  if  you  can  but  conjure  up  one  kindly  thought  of  me, 
left  in  the  world  alone,  listen  !  Leave  me  not,  for  pity  !  I 
shall  die  if  you  go  from  me.  I  love  you.  I  have  spoken  only 
from  my  love ;  because  I  am  jealous — yes,  jealous  of  this 
woman !  Because  I  could  not  endure  the  agony  which  preyed 
upon  me.  Oh,  I  alone  am  to  blame  !  With  me  lies  all  the 
fault !  Speak  to  me,  Foster.  Husband  !  Do  not  turn  away 
from  me,  as  if  I  inspired  you  with  hate.  Listen  to  me  1  See. 
I  am  on  my  knees,  supplicating  one  word  of  pardon,  but  one 
look  of  love !" 

He  stood  immovable  as  a  statae,  while  she  knelt  there  in 
tears. 

A  cry  of  pain  from  the  little  one  in  the  cradle,  brought  her 
to  her  feet,  as  she  exclaimed  : 

'*  My  child,  my  darling  !"  and  rushing  to  the  cradle,  she  togk 
the  infant  in  her  arms.  "  See  how  pale  she  is,"  she  cried. 
"  Ah !  she  is  dying  even  now,  perhaps,  and  you  stand  there 
like  a  stone,  a  block — without  a  word  of  consolation !" 

''  What  shall  I  do,"  he  asked.     "  AVhat  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Do  ?  Oh,  I  am  mad.  The  medicine.  I  must  get  it.  Yes, 
yes — but  where  is  the  pre-scription  ?  I  have  it.  Remain  here 
till  I  return.     Oh,  God  !  if  she  should  die  'ere  I  get  back." 

And  Lucy  rushed  from  the  house,  leaving  Foster  Dalton 
alone  with  his  child. 

For  a  few  moments  he  walked  up  and  down,  a  prey  to  varied 
feelings  of  anger  and  remorse.  Stopping  for  a  moment  beside 
the  cradle  where  the  little  sufferer  lay  tossing  restlessly,  he 
gazed  upon  it,  and  a  dark  shadow  veiled  his  face. 

"  What  if  I  should  dash  its  brains  out  against  the  wall !"  he 
muttered.  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  the  kindest  thing  I  could  do 
after  all."  Then  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  letting  his 
chin  rest  upon  his  breast,  he  remained  for  some  time  in  deep 
thought. 


56  bunce's  ten  cbnt  novels. 

"  Well,  well,"  at  last  lie  muttered.  "  Poor  Lucy,  slie  said 
some  hard  things  to  me,  but  she  is  right,  after  all  She  must 
be  very  unhappy.  But  is  it  my  fault  ?  Am  I  to  blame  if  I 
cannot  love  her  ?  Is  it  my  fault  if  I  -cannot  tear  the  love  of 
Mary  from  my  heart,  this  love  upon  which  T  built  all  my  future 
life?  Yes,  dear  Mary,  you  would  have  v/ooed  me  back  to 
virtue,  you  would  have  reclaimed  me  from  my  evil  ways,  and 
you  were  snatched  from  me.  They  tore  thee  from  my  side, 
but  they  could  not  tear  thy  image  from  ray  heart.  And  now, 
now,  you  are  anothers  !  Another  has  taken  the  place  which 
Miouldhave  been  mine,  and  Lucy  was  right,  when  she  said  that 
I  was  jealous.  I  am  !  Peleg  said  they  were  going  to  New 
York — well,  I  will  go  there.  I  will  see  her.  Yes,  yes,  I  will 
leave  to-morrow — to-day,  this  very  hour.  I  will  see  her  !  I 
■cannot  resist  the  impulse  !  I  know  not  what  I  shall  do,  but 
Bee  her  I  must,  and  will.  But  Lucy,  what  will  become  of  her  ? 
No  matter  w^hat." 

Again  he  gave  himself  up  to  reflection,  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments he  drew  nearer  to  the  table,  and  while  his  compressed 
•lip  bespoke  the  determination  of  his  heart,  he  seized  a  pen  and 
wrote  in  a  hasty,  nervous  manner,  as  follows  : 

"  Lucy, — I  have  gone.  Do  not  seek  for  me,  it  will  be  use- 
lees  ;  I  shalt  never  return " 

Then,  after  a  moment  or  two,  he  exclaimed  :  "  No,  no ;  I 
<cannot  do  it ;  I  cannot  tell  her  the  dreadful  truth ;"  and  he 
tore  the  letter  into  fragments  and  cast  it  away.  Seizing  the 
pen  again,  he  wrote  : 

"  Lucy, — I  have  gone  !  Do  not  seek  for  me,  I  am  very  un- 
happy. Foster  Dalton." 

He  put  it  in  an  envelope,  sealed  and  directed  it,  and  then, 
hurrying  his  face  in  his  hands,  burst  into  tears. 

As  he  sat  thus  overwhelmed  by  his  emotions,  the  door  softly 
opened,  and  a  good  natured  face,  lit  up  by  a  pair  of  bright, 


BROKEN   TOW,  OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  57 

miscliievous  eyes,  peeped  in,  and  the  next  instant  the  comely 
face  of  Nancy  Peabody  was  in  the  room.  AVithout  seeing 
Foster  she  called  out,  "  Lucy !  Lucy !  Gracious  sakes  where 
be  ye  ?  Be  ye  deaf,  or  what  ?"'  then  looking  round  hastily, 
she  exclaimed,  "  What !  not  to  hum  ?  Hello,  Mr.  Foster,  be 
ye  keeping  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  the  present.  Lucy  has  gone  out  for  a  moment  or 
two." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  promised  to  trot  round  and  help  her  do  up 
her  chores  and  things,  and  here  I  be.     Where's  she  gone  ?" 

'•  To  the  village  for  medicine.     Is  the  child  asleep  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Nancy,  going  to  the  cradle,  "  it's  a  squirming 
round  like  every  thing  !" 

"  Well,  well,  Lucy  will  soon  return,  she  will  bring  something 
to  quiet  it.  Remain  here,  I  must  go  out  too.  Stay !  When 
Lucy  comes  in,  give  her  this  note.  It  is  a  prescription.  Give 
it  to  her  as  soon  as  she  comes  in.     Do  not  forget  it." 

He  handed  Nancy  the  note  which  he  had  written  and  turn- 
ed to  leave  the  house.  But  ere  he  reached  the  door,  he  stop- 
ped, and  rushing  back,  seized  the  infant  in  his  arms,  kissed  it, 
replaced  it  in  its  cradle,  and,  without  uttering  a  word,  left  the 
house. 

"  Well,  Wijat  on  airtli  is  the  matter  with  him  ?"  exclaimed 
Nancy,  as  she  busied  herself  about  the  room.  "  He  seems  to 
be  in  a  bad  way.  What  in  creation  made  him  act  so,  I  wonder  ? 
He  looked  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  shook  like  a  rag  in  a  gale. 
'Skeered  about  the  child,  I  'spose.  'Fraid  it's  goin'  to  die. 
Well,  I  am  blamed  if  I  thought  he  had  as  much  heart  into 
him.  Where  can  Lucy  be  stayin'  I  wonder  ?  Poor  little  critter, 
it's  orful  sick.  Looks  as  slim  as  a  match.  Well,  I'm  concerned 
if  some  folks  don't  move  like  snails,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
went  to  the  door,  and  looked  out  for  the  twentieth  time  in  the 
course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  "  Ha !  here  she  comes,  down 
the  road." 


58  BUNCE's  TEX  CENT  NOVELS. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  poor  Lucy,  pale,  out  of  breath,  and 
bathed  in  tears,  rushed  in,  and  without  seeing  Nancy,  went  to 
the  cradle,  and  falling  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of  her  child, 
she  scanned  its  pale  face  anxiously,  and  exclaimed,  "  Thank 
Heaven,  I  have  arrived  in  time !"  Then  rising,  she  poured 
some  of  the  medicine  into  a  spoon  and  taking  the  child  into 
her  arras,  she  murmured  : 

"  Oh,  merciful  and  pitying  father,  spare  my  child !  Spare 
my  poor  sick  baby !" 

"  Foster,  Foster !  Look  !  Do  you  think  it  grows  worse  ?■" 
Then  glancing  round  and  seeing  he  was  not  there,  she  exclaim- 
ed, "  What,  gone  ?     Not  here  !    Where  can  he  be  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  said  Nancy:  coming  for- 
ward, "  but  he  went  just  as  soon  as  I  came  in." 

"  You  here,  Nancy !    How  kind,  how  good  of  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  thought  I  would  just  run  over  to 
see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use.  Foster  went  away  as  soon  as  I 
came,  and  left  this  here  note  for  you,  and  told  me  to  give  it  to 
you  as  soon  as  you  came." 

Lucy  took  the  note,  and  after  turning  it  over  in  her  hands 
once  or  twice,  was  about  to  open  it,  when  all  at  once,  a  dread 
fear  seized  her.  A  horror  of  g'omething  dreadful ;  a  presenti- 
ment of  some  impending  sorrow  took  possession  of  her,  and 
she  murmured,  "  No,  no !  I  dare  not  open  it !  I  am  sure 
there  are  some  evil  words  in  it,  which  I  dare  not  read." 

"  What's  the  use  of  being  'skeered  at  a  note  ?"  exclaimed 
Nancy.  "  It  can't  bite.  He  said  it  was  a  prescription.  You'd 
better  open  it  and  see." 

Thus  urged,  Lucy  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  the  fatal 
announcement.  As  she  did  so,  her  face  turned  deadly  pale.  A 
violent  tremor  shook  her  frame,  then,  uttering  a  piercing  cry, 
the  agonized  expression  of  a  grief-stricken  heart — she  fell  back 
inanimate  in  her  chair. 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  59 


CHAPTER  T. 

With  the  reader's  permission,  we  will  now  change  the 
scene  to  the  city  of  New  York,  and  enter  the  drawing-room 
of  one  of  the  most  magnificent  houses  in  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
able streets  of  the  metropolis.  The  apartment,  or  rather  se- 
ries of  apartmeiits,  is  furnished  sumptuously,  yet  with  a  chaste 
elegance  which  cannot  fail  of  pleasing  the  most  exacting 
taste,  and  around  the  walls  and  scattered  about  the  room,  are 
pictures  and  objects  of  art,  which  bespeak  the  refined  culture 
of  the  wealthy  owner.  All  that  can  please  the  eye  or  minis- 
ter to  the  gratification  of  the  senses,  is  gathered  there,  and 
nothing  is  wanting  to  complete  a  picture  of  luxury,  refinement, 
and  cultivation. 

Pacing  up  and  down,  with  quick  and  nervous  strides,  is  a 
young  and  handsome  man,  whose  contracted  brow  and  troubled 
look,  as  well  as  the  half-uttered  ejaculations  which  occasion- 
ally escape  him,  bespeak  the  presence  of  some  great  grief,  of 
strong,  though  partially  suppressed  emotion. 

He  pauses  occasionally  before  the  picture  of  a  beautiful 
woman  which  hangs  upon  the  wall,  at  the  side  of  the  room, 
and  gazes  upon  it  with  an  expression  full  of  affection,  shadow- 
ed by  a  vague  and  anxious  doubt ;  then  resuming  his  walk  up 
and  down  the  room,  he  mutters  to  himself  : 

*'  Would  I  were  satisfied  !  Oh,  that  I  could  shut  this  dread- 
ful fear  out  of  my  heart  and  rest  contented  in  my  confidence 
forever  more.  She  loves  him  still  1  She  does,  she  must ! 
although  she  has  given  me  her  hand  and  permitted  me  to  call 
her  by  the  sacred  name  of  wife,  something  whispers  me  her 
heart  is  not  mine.  That  look  of  regret  which  sometimes  steals 
over  her  lovely  face,  those  sighs  which  escape  her,  involunta- 


60  buxce's  ten  cent  novels. 

rily,  even  in  her  happiest  seeming  moments,  and  the  restraint 
which  is  evident  in  her  manu«r  when  I  press  her  for  the  cause, 
all  confirm  my  sad  suspicion.  Can  she  be  false  to  me  ?  Oh, 
God  !  the  very  thought  will  drive  me  mad." 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  servant 
entered,  bearing  a  dirty,  carelessly  folded  note,  upon  a  silver 
salver. 

"  If  you  please,  Mr.  Herbert,"  said  the  domestic,  approach- 
ing, "  a  man  just  left  this  note  at  the  door,  and  said  I  was  to 
give  it  to  you  immediately." 

Creighton  Herbert,  for  it  was  he,  took  the  note,  and  after 
dismissing  the  servant,  he  broke  the  envelope  and  read  it,  as 
follows  : 

"  Mr.  C.  Herbert — 8i7' :  An  old  friend,  who  is  anxious  to 
do  you  a  kindness,  and  impart  some  information  which  may 
be  of  the  greatest  service  to  you,  will  be  on  the  Ramble  in 
the  Central  Park,  this  afternoon,  at  tli7^ee  o'clock.  Do  not 
fail  to  come,  as  what  I  have  to  say,  concerns  your  honor,  as 
well  as  your  happiness.  Feleg  Bryce." 

"  Peleg  Bryce  !"  exclaimed  Herbert*.  "  Peleg  Bryce  !  What 
is  he  doing  here,  and  what  information  can  he  have  to  impart 
to  me  ?  I  will  not  go  !  But  stay  !"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
over  the  note  once  more.  ''  He  says,  that  what  he  has  to  com- 
municate, concerns  my  honor,  as  well  as  my  happiness.  What 
can  he  mean  ?  Is  it  possible  that  he  has  something  to  relate 
which  will  confirm  the  dreadful  suspicions  which  prey  upon 
my  peace  ?  No,  no.  It  cannot  be.  And  yet,  it  may  be  pos- 
sible, and  if  he  should  have  it  in  his  power  to  give  me  infor- 
mation, should  I  not  listen  to  it,  and  thus  end  this  torturing 
suspense  ?  I  will  go  !  Yes,  I  will  go  !"  he  exclaimed  again, 
pacing  the  room.  "  Three  o'clock;"  he  murmured,  shortly,  "  it 
is  near  the  hour.  I  will  start  at  once,"  and  ringing  the  bell, 
he  ordered  the  servant  to  inform  Mrs.  Herbert  that  he  was 
going  out,  and  might  not  return  till  late,  and  left  the  house. 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  61 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon,  and  as  Oreighton  Herbert 
stepped  from  the  carriage  on  the  summit  of  the  Central  Park, 
and  gazed  around  him,  the  sight  which  met  his  eye,  would 
have  charmed  him  by  its  loveliness,  were  he  not  absorbed  by 
the  dark  and  tempestuous  thoughts  which  agitated  him. 

In  the  distance  lay  the  great  city,  with  its  spires  and  cupo- 
las glittering  in  the  summer  sun,  and  the  rumble  of  the  ten 
thousand  v/heels,  which  rolled  over  its  paved  streets,  fell  upon 
the  ear  with  a  dull  monotonous  sound.  Nearer,  the  workmen 
were  busy  upon  the  yet  unfinished  grounds,  and  close  at  hand, 
and  all  around,  throngs  of  gaily  dressed  and  happy  looking 
people,  gave  animation  and  cheerfulness  to  the  scene.  Chil- 
dren were  rushing  here  and  there  and  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
among  "  the  shaded  walks  and  alleys  green,"  and  everything 
combined  to  make  the  place  one  wliere  those  who  sought  en- 
joyment and  repose  from  the  turmoil  and  bustle  of  the  city 
might  find  it. 

Creighton  Herbert  v/andered  amid  the  throng  without  think- 
ing of  the  beauties  of  the  place.  He  sought  alone  the  man 
whose  words  might  blight  his  hopes  and  render  him  a  wretch- 
ed being  for  evermore.  After  seeking  for  him.  in  vaia  for  som,e 
time,  he  took  his  place  near  the  summit  of  the  Ramble,  and 
waited  the  appearance  of  old  Peleg. 

Within  a  few  feet  of  where  he  sat,  but  hidden  from  his  sight 
by  a  turn  in  the  path,  sat  a  man,  still  youthful,  but  upon  whose 
face  dissipation  and  vice  had  already  stamped  premature  wrin- 
kles. He  was  pale,  and  his  clothes,  which  had  been  originally 
stylish  in  pattern  and  make,  were  soiled  and  in  rags.  His  hat 
was  crushed  over  his  face,  and  he  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep, 
either  from  fatigue  or  from  the  effects  of  a  late  debauch.  The 
passers  by  looked  upon  him  with  feelings  of  pity  and  disgust, 
^but  none  spoke  to  him  or  disturbed  him  in  his  deep  shimber. 
B     As  Creighton  Herbert  sat  waiting  for  the  appearance  of 


62  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

Peleg  Bryce,  hiS  impatience  manifested  itself  in  various  ways, 
and  once  he  felt  inclined  to  go  away  without  listening  to  the 
promised  revelation.  But  after  a  moment  or  two  he  resumed 
his  seat,  thinking,  *'  No !  spite  of  every  thing  I  will  hear  what 
he  has  to  say !  I  must,  for  I  fear  the  worst.  Mary  has  known 
this  man  ;  was  betrothed  to  him  ;  loved  him ;  stood  by  his  side 
to  wed  him.  How  can  she  love  me,  or  why  should  she  not 
Btill  love  him  ?  That  she  has  not  forgotten  him,  I  feel  assured, 
and  she  married  me,  perhaps,  through  interest  rather  than 
from  love.  Would  I  were  satisfied !  Oh  that  I  knew  the 
worst,  dreadful  though  the  certainty  of  her  falsehood  would 
be." 

He  took  out  his  watch  ;  the  hands  pointed  to  the  hour  of 
three,  and  as  he  replaced  it  in  his  pocket,  Peleg  Bryce  ap- 
proached him. 

There  was  no  difference  in  his  appearance,  save  that  he  was 
a  little  more  carefully  dressed  than  when  in  the  country,  but 
the  same  wicked,  mischievous  expression  was  upon  his  face, 
and  he  looked  uglier  than  ever  by  contrast  with  the  faces  by 
which  he  was  surrounded, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Herbert,  you  see  I  am  here  punctual  to  the 
hour.  See,"  he  went  on,  lugging  out  a  silver  watch,  large  and 
heavy  enough  to  serve  as  a  weapon,  "  three  to  a  second.  Bujt 
you  are  more  punctual  than  I,  for  you  have  been  waiting. 
Well,  well,  I  don't  wonder.     You  are  anxious." 

''  What  do  you  want  with  me,  Mr.  Bryce  ?"  asked  Herbert, 
as  the  whining  hypocrite  took  a  seat  by  his  side.  "  What  in- 
formation have  you  to  impart  to  me  ?" 

"  Don't  be  so  impatient,  Mr.  Herbert ;  all  in  good  time,  you 
know.  Let  me  see.  It  is  a  lonp-  while  since  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  you.  But  yon  are  looking  well ;  a  little  care- 
worn, perhaps,  but  well — very  well,  considering." 

**yes,  yes,  I  am  well,"  said  Herbert,  impatiently.  "  But — " 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  63 

"  It  is  six  months,  this  very  day,  since  you  were  married. 
How  time  flies,  to  be  sure !  I  am  right,  aint  I  ?  It  is  six 
months  to  a  day." 

"It  is,"  answered  Herbert,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,  my  memory  is  good.  Well,  on  the  day  you  were 
married  ;  yes,  on  the  very  day,  I  called  upon  Foster  Dalton 
and  found  him  in  the  midst  of  a  dispute  with  his  wife.  His 
poor  little  wife,  that  his  father  forced  him  to  marry.  I  knew 
it  would  end  in  trouble.     Yes,  yes  ;  and  I  told  him  so." 

"  Well,  well." 

"  Oh,  it  was  dreadful,  the  way  he  treated  her.  He  used  to 
stay  away  whole  weeks  together,  and  when  he  did  go  near  her, 
it  was  only  to  abuse  her.  You  see  he  did  not  love  her.  He 
loved  his  first  intended,  Mary  Maythorne.  He  never  got  over 
the  breaking  off  of  his  marriage  with  her." 

**  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  Listen,  and  judge  for  yourself.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  on 
the  day  you  took  everybody  by  surj^rise  by  marrying  Mary 
Maythorne,  I  called  at  Foster's  house  and  told  him  and  his 
wife  all  about  it.  He  heard  it  as  he  would  have  heard  his 
death  warrant." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Herbert.     "  Go  on !" 

"  He  turned  pale,  and  sank  into  a  chair,  as  if  he  had  been 
shot,  and  then  abused  me,  and  ordered  me  out  of  the  house  for 
telling  him  of  it.  Well,  that  very  day,  he  left  his  poor  heart- 
broken wife  and  sick  baby — who  came  very  near  dying,  but  is 
well  now — he  left  them  both  and  came  to  New  York  on  the 
same  day  that  you  and  your  wife  came  here,  and  what  is  more, 
has  been  here  ever  since.  Now,  when  you  put  this  and 
this  together,"  Peleg  went  on,  chuckling  inwardly,  and  rub 
biiig  his  hands,  •'  when  you  remember  that  your  wife  was  Ids 
intended  wife,  and  how  she  took  on  when  the  marriage  was 
broken  off,  and  how  he  was  most  killed  when  he  heard  that  she 


64  BUNCE'S  ten  CENt  NOVELS. 

had  married  you,  and  liow  he  left  and  followed  her  on  to  New 
York  that  very  day,  why " 

"  No  more,  no  more,"  exclaimed  Herbert,  rising.  "  Are  you 
sure  of  this — sure  that  he  is  here  ?" 

"  Am  I  sure  ?  It's  hard  to  fool  old  Peleg  Bryce,  I  can  tell  you. 
Sure  ?  As  sure  as  I  have  eyes  and  ears,  for  I  have  seen  him  and 
heard  him  speak.  Now,  Mr.  Herbert,  or  Doctor  Herbert — I 
'spose  I  otight  to  say.  TJnderstaird  me — I  don't  want  to  make 
any  fuss,  you  know,  or  make  you  jealous  ;  but  Foster  Dalton 
is  capable  of  everything,  and  though  I  do  not  say  a  word 
against  your  wife — because  I  don't  know  that  she  has  seen 
him — still  you  know  I  thought  it  would  be  as  well  for  you  to 
be  on  the  look  out,  for  women  folks  is  strange  critters,  some- 
times. I  should  be  drefful  miserable  if  any  thing  should  be 
wrong,  and  so " 

"  Do  you  know  whether  this  man  has  seen  my  wife  ?" 

"  No.  I  tell  you,  I  don't.  But  I  believe  he  came  here  for 
that  purpose.  You  may  judge  of  the  man  by  what  he  has 
done.    Why  should  he  abandon  his  wife  and  child,  or  why " 

"  Say  no  more,"  said  Herbert  turning  away  his  face,  to 
hide  the  strong  feelings  which  his  looks  betrayed.  "  Say  no 
more !"  Then  he  thought,  "  Can  this  man  have  some  sinister 
object  in  thus  filling  my  mind  with  suspicion  ?  He  once  of- 
fered himself  to  Mary,  and  she  refused  him  for  Foster  Dal- 
ton   " 

"  Peleg  Brj'ce,"  he  said  once  more  turning  towards  him, 
"  tell  me  frankly,  what  motive  are  you  serving  in  this  matter, 
and  why  have  you  sought  me  for  the  purpose  of  relating  these 
things  ?" 

"  With  what  object  ?  Why  ?"  answered  Peleg,  "  Because 
I  love  honesty  and  despise  treachery.  I  don't  take  any  pleas- 
ure in  making  you  uneasy  in  your  mind.  But  you  are  a  good 
honest  man,  and  it  aint  right  you  should  be  abused.     I  wanted 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR    THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  65 

to  do  you  a  good  turn,  and  I  hope  you  will  take  the  will  for 
the  deed.  When  you  have  need  of  me  or  of  my  eyes  and 
ears,  you  can  send  for  me  again.  I  am  going  to  stay  in  York 
awhile.  I  am  tired  of  living  about  home.  Folks  around 
there  don't  kind  o'  like  me,  and  I  thought  I'd  come  down  to 
York  for  a  change  of  scene,  and  to  ses  the  sights." 

"  He  seems  honest,"  thought  Herbert.  "  I  do  not  know  why 
I  should  suspect  his  motives.  But  I  will  not  act  too  precipi- 
tately. I  will  watch  and  learn  more.  Oh,  God,  should  she 
have  deceived  me  all  this  time  !"  Then  turning  to  Peleg,  he 
said,  "  I  am  obliged  to  you,  and  will  ask  you  to  keep  your  eye 
upon  this  man.  When  you  learn  anything  more  of  him  or  of 
his  movements,  let  me  know,  and — but  I  must  leave  you  now.'* 

"  Well,  I  won't  press  you  to  stay,"  said  Peleg,  holding  out 
his  hand,  which  Herbert  took  mechanically  in  his.  "  Remem- 
ber what  I  have  said,  and  think  over  it.  Women  are  smart, 
you  know,  and  I  will  keep  my  eyes  open,  too,  and  let  you  know 
when  I  hear  or  see  anything." 

"  Well,  well.  Good-bye,  now,"  said  Herbert.  "  But  stay," 
he  said,  taking  out  his  purse,  "  I  cannot  ask  you  to  remain 
here  at  your  own  expense  to  serve  me.     "  Let  me " 

"  Not  a  cent,  Mr.  Herbert.  Not  a  cent.  Sir.  Peleg  Bryce 
has  got  more  money  than  he'll  ever  live  to  spend — 1  don't  do 
this  for  pay." 

"  As  you  please.  Adieu."  And  Creighton  Herbert  walked 
away,  a  prey  to  the  most  poignant  feelings  of  fear  and  distrust. 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place  between  Peleg 
and  Herbert,  a  man  dressed  in  a  gay  and  rather  flashy  manner, 
Jiad  passed  and  repassed  them  several  times,  and  as  Herbert 
^w^ent  away,  he  followed  him  at  a  distance,  and  watched  him 
until  he  entered  the  carriage  and  was  driven  off;  then,  return- 
ing, he  paused  in  front  of  the  man  who  sat  asleep,  and  after 

atisfying  himself  that  he  still  slumbered,  he  strolled  off  and 


66  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

lighting  a  cigar,  leaned  against  one  of  the  benches  and  watch- 
ed the  passers  by,  with  a  dull,  languid  air. 

Left  to  himself,  old  Peleg  Bryce  wandered  up  and  down  the 
path,  rubbing  his  hands  and  smiling  at  his  thoughts,  which 
must  have  been  wicked,  or  they  would  not  have  pleased  him. 

"  A  pretty  good  day's  work,"  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  his 
steps  towards  home,  "  a  pretty  good  day's  work !  I  have  done 
Mr.  Herbert  a  favor,  and  paid  two  debts  together.  Pretty 
Mary  will  be  no  happier  for  what  her  husband  knows,  and  Mr. 
Foster  Dalton  will  be  foiled  at  any  rate.  Ha !  ha !  You  de- 
spised me,  rejected  me,  but  after  all,  perhaps,  you'll  find,  my 
good  girl,  that  you  would  have  been  quite  as  well  off  as  the  wife 
of  old  Peleg !" 

As  he  walked  on  and  was  about  turning  the  corner  of  a  path, 
a  young  countryman,  who  was  gaping  about,  approached  him 
from  a  side  path,  and  speaking  behind  him,  asked  : 

"  I  say.  Mister,  won't  you  tell  a  feller  where  the  cave  is  ?" 

Old  Peleg  turned  round  and  found  himself  standing  face  to 
face  with  Lige  Bates. 

The  astonishment  written  in  both  their  faces  evidenced  their 
mutual  surprise  at  the  unexpected  meeting. 

Lige  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Git  eout !"  he  exclaimed,  taking  a  step  back,  and  surveying 
Peleg  from  head  to  foot.  "  You  dont  mean  to  say  it's  you, 
you  derned  old  red  wolf?" 

"  The  devil  take  him,"  thought  Peleg,  but  he  held  out  his 
hand,  saying  :  "  Well,  who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you 
Lige  Bates  ?     Why  what  has  brought  you  to  York  ?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  that  is  my  business,"  replied  Lige,  declining 
the  proffered  hand.  I  recon  I  aint  responsible  to  you  for  my 
comings  and  goings,  be  I  ?" 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  so  short.  You  are  not  the  first  smart 
young  man  who  came  to  the  city  to  find  out  he  was  a  fool !"  said 
Peleg,  with  a  sneer. 


BROKEN    VOW,  OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  67 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doin'  here,  if 't  comes  to  that.  No 
good,  I'll  bet  a  fo 'pence  ?" 

"  As  you  say  to  me,  that  is  my  business,  Lige.  Don't  you 
mix  yourself  with  my  affairs." 

"  Well,  I  caliate,"  responded  Lige,  putting  his  hands  in  his 
pocket,  and  looking  Peleg  steadily  in  the  face,  "  that  will  de- 
pend on  circumstances.  I  kind  o'  allow,  that  if  you  are  dab- 
blin'  in  certain  matters,  you'll  find  me  pretty  close  on  your 
heels  the  hull  time.  Kind  o'  'pears  to  me,  that  a  sort  o'  special 
providence  chucked  you  in  my  way,  any  how." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Well,  I  mean  a  heap  !  Gol  darn  that  viperous  looking 
face  of  your 'n,  it  sets  my  blood  to  bilen'  all  over,  and  if  I  don't 
tell  you  what's  into  my  mind,  I  shall  bust.  I've  been  a  hank- 
ering to  spit  it  out  for  a  long  time,  and  I  reckon  I'll  improve 
the  occasion,  as  parson  Woodly  says.  You  know  I  don't  like 
you,  Peleg.  I  recon  you  aint  surprised  at  that,  for  there 
ain't  many  that  does.  You're  a  deuced  treacherous,  two-faced, 
pisonous,  mischievous  old  cuss  !  I  know  you,  and  what  you 
have  done,  and  being  so  well  posted  in  you,  I'm  going  to  keep 
my  eye  skinned  for  you  all  the  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  you'll  find  out  if  you  live  long  enough.  I  owe  you 
one  for  all  the  mischief  you've  done  in  the  Dalton  family.  Oh, 
you  needn't  look  so  black.  I  kin  catologue  your  works  !"  Lige 
exclaimed,  as  Peleg  moved  away,  and  following  him  up  closely. 
*'  I  know  all  you've  done  !  You  was  mad  because  Mary  May- 
thorne  wouldn't  have  you,  and  ever  since. you've  made  nothing 
but  mischief.  You  made  Foster  Dalton  run  away.  You  set 
him  on  and  stirred  up  the  devil  in  him.  I've  heered  on  it,  and 
you're  a  followin'  him  up  now,  for  some  ornery  reason  or  an- 
other !" 

They  were  standing  just  opposite  to  the  man  who  sat  sleep- 


68  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

ing  on  the  bench,  and  as  Lige  uttered  these  last  words,  the 
sleeper  awoke,  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  looked  wildly  about  him, 
while  Lige  went  on  without  seeing  him. 

"  What  on  earth  would  she  have  done  with  you  ?  Do  you 
suppose,  if  I  had  been  a  young  girl,  I  wouldn't  a  thousand 
times  rather  have  married  Foster  Dalton  than  you,  you  derued 
old  red  rhinoceros  ?" 

The  man,  who  had  been  asleep,  half  rose,  here,  as  if  he 
would  have  slunk  away,  but  seemed  to  change  his  mind,  for 
he  sat  down  again  and  pulled  his  hat  further  over  his  brow> 
and  folding  his  arms,  remained  motionless. 

"  Bah  !"  ejaculated  Peleg.  "  Tou  snarl  like  a  dog.  But 
barking  dogs  never  bite.  What  do  you  mean  by  quarreling 
with  me  in  this  way  ?" 

"Can't  you  understand?  Lucy  has  let  me  into  all  your 
tricks,  both  before  her  marriage  and  after.  She  has  told  the 
secret  to  me,  but  I  aint  afraid  to  tell  it  to  you,  'cause  I  know 
you'll  keep  it." 

"  Peace,  fo<A !"  cried  Peleg.  Peace,  I  say !  I  won't  bear 
this  !    I  won't  listen  to  you  !    I'll  choke  you !" 

"  You  can't  help  yourself.  I  aint  afraid  of  you.  If  I  am  a 
barking  dog,  I  aint  skeered  of  a  hissing  snake '" 

"  If  you  go  on  you'll  see,"  exclaimed  Peleg,  almost  beside 
himself  with  rage. 

"  See  ?  See  what?  You  can't  skeer  any  body.  You  were 
the  cause  of  breaking  off  Mary  Maythorne's  marriage  because 
she  rejected  you,  and  you  threw  Lucy  Thornton  in  the  way  of 
Foster  Dalton,  and  plotted  her  ruin  and  his  villainy." 

"  It's  a  lie  !"  exclaimed  Peleg,  trembling  with  rage.  "  It's 
a  lie  !"  and  raising  his  cane,  he  advanced  to  strike  Lige,  who 
stood  ready  to  spring  upon  him.  But  just  as  the  cane  was 
about  to  descend,  the  man  whom  we  have  spoken  of,  started  to 
his  feet  and  threw  himself  between  the  two  beligerants,  ex- 
claiming, "  Hold  !" 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  69 

Both  Lig-e  and  Peleg  -  started  back  in  friglit  and  astonish- 
ment, for  there,  between  them,  pale,  emaciated,  in  dirt  and 
rags,  stood  Foster  Dalton. 

"  Foster  Dalton  !"'  they  exclaimed  together,  when  the  first 
shock  of  surprise  had  passed  away. 

Foster  looked  first  at  one,  and  then- at  the  other  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  in  a  hoarse,  husky  voice,  said  :  "  Peleg  Bryce,  all 
that  this  honest  fellow  has  said  is  true,  and  you  know  that  it 
is !  You  dare  not  deny  it  before  me.  Many  a  time  have  I 
thought  to  pay  you  for  the  treacherous  part  you  have  acted 
towards  me.  I  know  you  for  a  cogging,  malicious,  designing 
scoundrel,  and  new  that  we  meet  here — now  that  I  am  so  lost 
and  degraded  that  I  can  no  longer  disgrace  myself  by  a  quar- 
rel with  you,  I  intend  to  punish  you.  Yes,  you  white  hearted 
craven,  your  time  has  come  !"  and,  with  a  sudden  spring,  he 
leaped  forward  and  seized  Peleg  by  the  throat. 

But  with  the  exertion  his  strength  deserted  him,  his  grasp 
relaxed,  and  he  fell  forward  to  the  earth. 

"You  would  not  kill  old  Peleg  would  you?"  Bryce  exclaim- 
ed, as  he  stepped  aside. 

"  Kill  you  ?  aye !  if  my  strength  had  not  failed  me,"  said 
Foster,  as  Lige  picked  him  from  the  ground  and  supported 
him  to  the  bench  upon  which  he  had  been  sleeping.   "  I  would 

• "  but  e're  he  could  finish  the  sentence,  he  fainted,  and  fell 

fell  back  senseless. 

"  Why,  Foster !  Foster  Dalton  !"  exclaimed  Lige,  "  what's 
the  matter?     Sake's  alive,  he's  fainted!" 

"  I  wish  he  was  killed,"  muttered  Peleg.  Then,  as  a  num- 
ber of  people  began  to  gather  round,  he  cast  a  malicious  gaze 
upon  Foster,  and  mixing  with  the  crowd,  soon  disappeared. 

By  the  aid  of  one  or  two  kindly  persons,  Lige  succeeded  in 
restoring  Foster  to  consciousness.  He  no  sooner  recovered 
his  senses,  than  raising  himself  and  looking  round,  he  asked, 
"  Where  is  he  ?     Where  has  he  gone  ?" 


I 


70  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  Oh,  he's  sneaked  off,  like  a  mean  cuss,  as  he  is  !"  answered 
Lige,  "  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  He  aint  worth  killing,  anyhow. 
But  how  do  you  feel .?    Better  ?" 

"  Yes,  better,  better.  A  vertigo  seized  me.  But  how  is  it 
I  find  you  in  New  York  ?" 

"  Oh,  me  ?"  said  Lige,  evidently  much  embarrassed  by  the 
question.  "  Well,  I  tho't  I'd  just  run  down  for  a  day  or  two. 
Harvest  is  over,  and  it  was  kind  o'  dull,  and  as  I'd  never  been 
to  York,  I  cal'iated  I'd  take  a  little  mite  of  a  trip.  But  you,' 
you,  Foster.  How  is  it  I  see  you  in  such  a  fix  as  this  ?  I 
recon  things  don't  go  very  peart  with  you,  do  they  ?" 

*•  Alas,  no !" 

"  Are  you  contented  ?     Be  you  hapyy  ?" 

"  How  can  I  be  happy  again  on  earth  ?"  exclaimed  Foster." 
'*  But  leave  me  Lige,  I  am  better.  I  do  not  reqiure  your  as- 
sistance any  more." 

"  But  have  you  no  questions  to  ax  about " 

"  Whom  ?"  asked  Foster,  interrupting  him. 

"  Well,  of  the— the  folks  ?" 

"  What  of  them  ?" 

*•  She  is  very  wretched " 

"  And  so  am  I." 

"  He's  as  tough  about  the  gizzard  as  ever,"  thought  Lige. 

"  Are  you  not  cold  ?"  asked  Foster,  shivering.     "  I  am." 

"  Cold  ?  Why  it's  as  hot  as  pepper.  I'm  perspiring  like 
an  ox." 

"  I  am  cold  even  to  my  marrow !" 

"  Poor  cuss,  he's  sick,  I  recon,"  Lige  thought  to  himself. 
"  But  it's  no  use  for  me  to  stop  talking  to  him  here.  I'd  bet- 
ter run  and  tell  the  old  man  and  Lucy  all  about  it.  I'll  find 
out  where  he  lives  first  if  I  can,  though.  Well,  I've  got  to 
clear,"  he  said,  aloud.  "  But  I'd  like  to  see  you  again.  Where 
do  you  hang  eout  ?" 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  71 

"  I  have  no  lodging  place.  Here  !  the  streets — ^they  are  my 
home  now !" 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  thought  Lige.  ''  But  I'll  keep  on  the 
look  out  for  him.  The  old  man  has  a  clue  to  his  place  any 
how."  "  Well,"  he  said,  aloud,  "  I  live  in  Bowery  street,  No. 
866,  up  three  pair  of  stairs,  room  No.  25,  if  you  want  to  see 
me,  you  kin  hear  of  me  there,  if  I  aint  to  hum.  If  I  can 
help  you,  let  me  know.  You  aint  got  no  message  nor  nothing, 
have  you  ?" 

"  No,  but  stop  !  Here  !"  and  he  wrote  something  with  an 
unsteady  hand  on  a  piece  of  dirty  paper,  which  he  took  from 
his  pocket.  "  If  you  do  not  hear  from  me  within  three  days, 
look  for  me  in  the  place  I  have  indicated,  and  now  leave  me." 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  said  Lige,  putting  the  paper  in  a  large 
yellow  wallet,  with  as  many  straps  to  it  as  you  would  find  in  a 
double  harness.     "  Good-bye,  111  see  you  again." 

Foster  made  no  reply — and  Lige,  after  giving  him  a  look  of 
commisseration  and  shaking  his  head  mournfully — turned  on 
his  heel,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  towards  the  city. 

"  How  weak  I  am,"  muttered  Foster,  still  sitting  on  the 
bench  where  we  found  him.  "  Curse  on  my  shattered  nerves  I 
A  moment  since,  I  held  my  evil  genus,  the  curse  of  my  life, 
by  the  throat,  and  he  escaped  from  my  grasp  !  It  was  he  who 
has  been  the  cause  of  all  my  misery.  I  would  have  choked 
the  life  out  of  his  pestiferous  carcase,  had  I  but  one-half  the 
strength  I  used  to  have.  But  my  rage  rendered  me  powerless. 
No  wonder !  I  have  eaten , nothing  in  three  days,  and  I  am 
starving.  Yes,  starving,  dying,  I  fear.  But  why  fear  it? 
What  is  there  left  for  me  but  to  die,  and  the  means  are  ready  ? 
A  little  courage,  and  all  will  be  over !" 

He  sat  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  and  then  compressing 
his  lips,  with  an  expression  of  desperate  determination,  he 
took  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  and  cocking  it,  raised  it  partially 


72  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

to  his  mouth  :  but  midway,  his  hand  paused,  and  then  fell  by 
his  side. 

"  Why  should  I  fear  ?"  he  muttered.  "  I  am  poor,  weak, 
and  wretched.  In  six  mouths  I-  have  squandered  everything 
— not  a  penny  is  left  to  me  in  the  world,  not  a  friend — oh, 
Mary,  Mary — ^you  are  the  cause  of  all !  But  for  this  fatal 
passion — 1  cannot  die  without  seeing  you.  I  will  wait  one 
day  longer,  and  then  all  will  be  over."  Keplacing  Che  pistol 
in  his  breast,  he  continued  to  reflect,  in  silence,  and  in  the 
meantime,  the  man  who  had  followed  Creighton  Herbert  to 
his  carriage,  and  who  had  watched  Foster  Dalton  as  he  slept, 
had  advanced  silently  to  within  a  few  paces,  and  stood  watch- 
ing him.  As  Foster  put  away  the  pistol,  a  look  of  satisfac- 
tion stole  over  his  face,  and  walking  stealthily  towards  him, 
he  placed  his  hand  gently  upon  his  shoulder. 

Foster  started  at  the  touch,  and  rising,  confronted  the  new 
comer. 

"  Well,  tempter !"  he  exclaimed,  "  have  you  not  abandoned 
me  yet  ?" 

"  No,"  responded  the  man.  "  Eight  days  ago,  just  about 
this  hour,  I  saw  you  sitting  before  the  green  cloth  of  the  Faro 
table.  You  played  like  a  madman,  blindly,  recklessly,  and  you 
lost  your  last  dollar.  Ever  since  you  have  been  flat  broke — 
entirely  without  resources,  no  money,  nor  friends,  I  doubt 
whether  you  have  had  enough  to  buy  your  food." 

"  Well,  I  have  not  begged  of  you,  Wharton,  have  I  ?  I  have 
not  whined." 

"  No,"  answered  the  man,  '*  not  to  me.  But  you  were  going 
to  blow  your  brains  out,  just  now,  because  you  have  not  the 
means  of  going  to  the  gambling-table  once  more." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Wharton,  I  play  no  more.  Would  play 
no  more,  if  I  had  millions.  I  have  played — ^it  has  been  my 
passion,  my  ruin.     I  played  not  to  win,  but  to  distract  my 


BROKEN  VOW,  OR  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE.         73 

thoughts.     I  hoped  one  passion  would  drive  out  another.    I 
tried  it.     It  failed,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the  man  whom  Foster  had 
called  Wharton.  "  Just  now  you  were  going  to  raise  your 
hand  against  your  own  life.  That  was  folly.  I  was  glad  to 
see  you  thought  better  of  it.  Don't  give  way  to  such  weak- 
ness again.  Why  should  you  die  ?  Eather  commence  a  new 
existence.  It  is  easy,  if  you  will  follow  my  advice,  and  take 
advantage  of  the  means  I  offer  you." 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you.     Leave  me  !" 

"  You  are  ungenerous,  Dalton,  to  refuse  the  kind  offers  of  a 
friend." 

"  You  my  friend,  you  !    Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

'*  Certainly,  I  am  your  friend.  Did  I  not  take  you  by  the 
hand,  when  you  first  arrived  in  the  city  ?  Was  I  not  your 
guide  and  counsellor  ?  Did  I  not  introduce  you  to  the  gay 
world,  to  all  the  charms  and  pleasing  dissipations  of  the  town  ?'^ 

"  Yes,  and  to  my  present  misery  and  degradation." 

"  You  are  ungrateful." 

"  Again,  I  say,  leave  me,  Wharton.  I  will  not  hear  you. 
You  would  tempt  me  to  greater  disgrace,  to  deeper  ruin  !" 

"  Pshaw !  man,  don't  be  a  coward.  Come,  follow  the  road  I 
point  out !  You  know  what  it  is,  and  to  what  it  will  lead.. 
There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  against  you.  I  have 
given  you  the  idea,  execute  it.     I  will  be  the  head,  and  youi 

(he  arm  of  our  enterprise." 
\  "  What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 
I  "  It  is  very  simple  ;  it  is  only  to  demonstrate  to  a  man  whom 
'  met  here  this  very  afternoon,  and  whom  I  will  point  out  ta 
you,  that  the  goods  of  this  world  are  unequally  distributed, 
ad  that  you  should  possess  a  share  of  what  he  has." 
"  But  this  is  robbery.     Theft !" 

"  Mere  words  !     The  man  who  takes  a  kingdom  is  a  hero  ; 
e  man  who  takes  a  purse  is  a  thief." 


74  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  I  will  have  nothiug  to  do  with  it ;  I  refuse  now  and  for- 
ever.    Leave  me !" 

"  As  you  please.  I  needed  help,  you  needed  money.  I  thought 
we  could  strike  a  bargain.  If  you  refuse,  so  much  the  worse 
for  you,  and  I  must  look  somewhere  else.  You  prefer  to  starve. 
Well,  each  to  his  taste,  and  I  bow  with  profound  respect  to 
your  exhalted  honesty.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  however.  Good 
day !"  and  the  man  walked  off. 

For  a  moment  Foster  stood  hesitating,  then,  as  if  impelled 
by  some  new  impulse,  he  called  out : 

"Ho!  Wharton— a  word !" 

"  Have  you  changed  your  mind  ?"  asked  Wharton,  returning 
to  him,  "  I  thought  you  would  not  play  the  child." 

"  I  have  not  accepted  yet." 

"  No,  but  you  will.  Come,  let  us  go  away  together,  and  dis- 
cuss the  matter  over  a  good  supper.  That  will  put  a  little 
pluck  in  you.  Then,  if  you  agree  to  seize  the  prize  Fortune 
holds  out  to  you,  meet  me  at  midnight,  on  the  corner  of  Twen- 
ty-fourth street  and  Madison  avenue,  and  I'll  show  you  a  way 
to  live  like  a  prince  for  a  year  to  come.  Come !"  and,  without 
a  word,  Foster  allowed  him  to  lead  him  away. 

They  went  a  short  distance  towards  the  summit  of  the  Park 
where  Wharton  summoned  the  driver  of  a  coach  that  stood 
near,  the  door  of  which  being  opened,  he  pushed  Foster  in,  and 
following  himself,  gave  the  driver  his  directions,  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  city. 


'','  h 


4 

J 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  75 


CHAPTER  YL 

On  the  evening  of  the  day,  next  to  that  upon  which  the 
events  described  in  the  last  chapter  took  place,  Creighton 
Herbert  sat  alone  in  a  small  apartment  of  his  elegant  house. 
It  was  the  one  usually  occupied  by  his  wife  during  the  day, 
and  being  situated  at  the  back  of  the  building,  was  retired 
and  quiet.  The  furniture,  though  costly,  was  plain,  and  the 
place  bespoke  the  presence  of  a  woman  who  preferred  comfort 
to  show.  At  one  end  of  the  room  stood  a  toilet,  before  a 
large  mirror,  beside  which,  a  window  extended  nearly  to  the 
floor.  A  door  on  one  side  led  into  the  principal  hall,  and  an- 
other opened  into  a  sleeping  apartment. 

Herbert  occupied  a  large,  easy  chair,  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  sat  rocking  himself  unquietly  to  and  fro.  At  last  he 
rose  and  rung  the  bell.  A  waiting  woman  made  her  appear- 
ance, of  whom  he  enquired  whether  his  wife  had  yet  gone 
down  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Not  yet.  Sir,"  answered  the  domestic. 

"  Say  that  I  await  her  here." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  and  the  girl  left  the  room,  while  Herbert  once 
more  gave  himself  up  to  his  sad  thoughts. 

"  I  cannot  mix  with  our  guests,  I  fear,"  he  murmured,  "  with- 
out betraying  myself.  Ah,  they  little  think,  that  surrounded 
as  I  am,  by  all  that  wealth  can  procure  ;  by  every  exter- 
nal means  of  happiness  and  enjoyment,  what  a  wretched 
heart  beats  within  my  breast.  I  would  give  all  this  luxury  and' 
wealth  for  one  sincere,  loving  smile  from  her.  Oh  that  I 
could  banish  the  past  from  my  remembrance !  But,  after  all,, 
may  I  not  be  wrong  ?  What  is  it  to  me,  even  if  Foster  Dal- 
ton  is  here  ?    If  he  does  not  see  Mary,  what  harm  to  me  ? 


76  bu>x'e's  ten  cent  novels^ 

The  fact  that  he  loves  her  still,  proves  nothing  against  her. 
No,  noiT    I  ought  not  to  doubt  her !" 

At  this  moment  Mary  entered  the  room.  If  she  was  beau- 
tiful when  we  first  saw  her,  about  to  plight  her  vows  to  Fos- 
ter Dalton,  how  much  more  so  was  she  now,  that  two  years 
had  served  to  develope  lier  beauty  and  mature  the  charms 
v/hich  then  were  but  buddiiig  ?  The  elegant,  though  modest, 
dress  she  wore,  set  off  her  magnificent  figure  to  the  very  best 
advantage,  and  she  looked  fit  to  reign  the  queen  of  a  palace. 
She  looked  pale,  and  wore,  in  spite  of  her  apparent  efibrts  to 
seem  tranquil,  an  anxious  look,  and  as  she  entered  the  room,  a 
gentle  sigh  escaped  her. 

"  You  have  asked  for  me,"  sh-e  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  Mary,"  Herbert  replied.  "Is  it  not  time  yoa 
were  in  the  drawing-room  ?    Your  guests  will  soon  be  here," 

"  I  am  not  well  to-night." 

"  Indeed  !  One  would  not  think  so  to  look  at  you.  You 
seem  more  beautiful  than  ever." 

"  You  always  flatter  me,"  she  replied,  taking  a  seat  and  play- 
ing with  the  plain  gold  ring  which  encircled  her  finger. 

"  I  wish  we  were  to  be  alone,  to-night,"  she  went  on.  I 
dread  the  task  of  appearing  to  be  gay.  I  much  prefer  this 
quiet  little  room,  to  all  the  splendors  down  stairs." 

"  You  love  solitude,  Mary." 

"  Am  I  wrong  for  doing  so  ?" 

"  No,  but  to  sit  alone,  nursing  gloomy  thoughts "• 

"  My  tlioughts  are  not  gloomy,  always,  Creighton,  though  I 
am  happier  out  of  the  gay  world,  particularly  when  I  feel  as 
I  do  to  night.     I  received  a  letter  from  my  father  this  morning." 

'Indeed!  You  didn't  mention  it  before.  What  is  the 
news  ?     Are  they  all  well  in  the  country  ?" 

"  Father  is  very  unhappy." 

'*  Mary,  I  have  observed  that  whenever  you  receive  new? 


.   BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE  JFORCED    MARRIAGE.  7*7 

from  home,  you  seem  as  you  are  to-night,  thoughtful  and  sad. 
Does  the  result  of  a  letter  from  home,  call  up  unpleasant  re- 
membrances ?" 

"  Creighton !" 

■"  Oh,  do  not  deny  it,  Mary.     You  know  that  I  am  resigned." 

"  I  assure  you,  that  the  only  reason  for  my  sadness  is,  that 
my  poor  father  is  unhappy." 

"  Why,  then,  does  he  not  come  to  live  with  us  ?  Twenty 
times  I  have  asked  him,  and  he  stiU  refuses." 

"  He  is  old,  you  know,  and  does  not  like  change." 

"  And,  why  do  you  not  add,  he  does  not  like  me  ?"  He 
never  looked  upon  our  union  with  pleasure.  You  are  right ; 
he  does  not  like  change  I" 

■*'  You  have  promised  not  ^o  refer  to  this  subject." 
-.     "I  cannot  help  it.     It  is  your  indifference  which  calls  it  up, 
and  which  makes  me  continually  regret  having  forced  this 
marriage  upon  you." 

"  You  are  cruel  to  speak  thus.  Why  do  you  think  I  am  not 
satisfied  ?" 

'•  Satisfied  !  Y^es,  as  well  as  with  any  one,  perhaps,  except 
Foster  Dalton." 

"  Foster  Dalton  !  Never  mention  that  name  again  to  me, 
€reighton  Herbert,  if  you  respect  me." 

^'  See !  See  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What  can  I  think  when  even 
the  mention  of  his  name  flushes  your  cheek,  and  makes  you 
weep  ?  What !  Weep  before  the  eyes  of  your  husband,  at  the 
mention  of  your  old  lover's  name  !  You  love  him  still,  Mary. 
You  do!    You  do!" 

"  'Tis  false  !"  she  cried,  rising.  "  I  do  not.  Have  not  since 
that  terrible  day  I" 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  sigh  and  weep  ?  Why  do  you  seem  so 
wretched,  under  such  restraint  ?" 

■^'  Because  you  make  me  weep  ;  you  put  this  restraint  upon 


78  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

me.  Because  you  are  continually  reminding  me  of  what  I 
would  fain  forget.  I  weep,  because,  knowing  you  to  be  the 
most  worthy  of  men,  I  would  love  you  as  you  deserve  to  be 
loved,  and  you  throw  my  love  back  upon  me." 

"  Forgive  me !"  he  cried.  "  Pardon  me  !  Weep  no  more,  but 
listen  !  I  am  not  so  culpable  as  you  think.  I  love  you  so  much 
that,  I  confess  it,  I  am  jealous  !  Oh,  if  you  knew  what  joy  it 
would  be  to  me,  to  hear  you  say,  *  I  love  you  !'  0,  how  happy, 
how  rich  I  should  be  then !  But  I  have  been  mad.  Mad  to 
dream  that  you  had  for  me  more  than  a  cold  esteem !  I 
thought  I  could  blot  out  from  your  heart  the  remembrance  of 
your  first  passion — this  fatal  love  which  will  kill  us  both.  Him 

« 

and  me,  for  as  I  live,  I  will  kill  this  man  !" 

"  No,  no,  Creighton  !"  she  cried.  "  Do  not  speak  so.  Ban- 
ish this  horrid  thought  from  your  mind,  and  banish  with  it 
every  fear  of  me.  Do  not  commit  an  act  which  would  destroy 
your  peace  of  mind  forever,  but  live  on  peacefully,  trusting  in 
me  and  in  my  love.  Listen !  You  reproached  me  just  now, 
with  being  sad.  Do  you  know  its  cause  ?  It  is  my  absorb- 
ing love  for  you,  which  banished  every  other  thought  from 
the  heart  which  you  fill  entirely.  Your  sadness  has  made  me 
think  you  loved  me  not,  and  this  thought,  and  this  alone,  has 
made  me  wretched.  Come,  let  us  date  from  this  hour  our  per- 
fect happiness.  Let  us  have  faith  in  one  another  !  You  will 
see  how  the  assurance  of  your  love  shall  drive  away  all  gloom 
;and  sadness  from  my  face.  Let  us  live  in  the  present  and  the 
future,  and  never  again  give  a  thought  to  the  past !" 

"  Do  you,  indeed,  speak  the  feelings  of  your  soul  ?  Is  this, 
indeed,  the  truth  ?" 

"  Ah,  Creighton,  falsehood  can  never  spring  from  love." 

"  True,  true  !"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  to  his  heart,  "  We 
will  forget  all !  We  will  live  in  the  present  and  in  the  future. 
Henceforth,  I  banish  every  doubt  and  fear.    Oh,  Mary,  Mary, 


BROKEN   VOW,    OB   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  79 

you  have  raised  ray  soul  from  the  depths  of  despair  to  the  pin- 
acle  of  joy  and  hope !" 

It  would  have  been  like  a  daj^ger  in  the  heart  of  Peleg  Bryce, 
could  he  have  seen  the  smile  which  lit  up  both  their  faces  ; 
could  he  have  seen  the  kiss  of  love  with  which  Creightou 
Herbert  sealed  this  happy  compact,  and  have  heard  the  words 
of  mutual  forgiveness  which  fell  from  their  lips  during  the 
next  five  minutes.  At  the  end  of  which  time,  the  waiting 
woman  came  in  to  inform  Mary  that  her  guests  were  already 
arriving. 

"  Will  you  wear  your  new  necklace,  madame  ?"  she  asked. 

"What  necklace?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind  to-night,  Rose — not  to-night.  Some  other 
time,"  said  Herbert.,  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  new  necklace  ?"  Mary  enquired. 

"  A  mere  bagatelle,"  Herbert  replied.  "  A  trifle  I  took  a 
fancy  to  the  other  day.     I  thought  you  might  like  it " 

"  What !  a  present  from  you  ?  Oh,  let  me  see  it.  Bring  it 
to  me.     Wliere  is  it.  Rose  ?" 

"  In  your  room,  madame." 

*'  Then  come,  Rose,  come.  Let  us  look  for  it.  Thanks, 
Creighton,  thanks.  You  called  me  beautiful,  just  now.  I 
would  be  more  beautiful  for  your  sake.  Come,  Rose,  come." 
And  she  left  the  room  gaily,  followed  by  the  waiting  woman. 

"  This  is  like  a  dream,"  exclaimed  Herbert,  when  left  alone. 
"  How  wicked  of  me  even  to  doubt  her." 

In  a  short  time  she  returned  with  the  brilliant  bauble  glis 
tening  on  her  lovely  neck,  and  going  to  Herbert,  she  placed 
her  hand  in  his,  saying  :  "  From  this  hour  my  life  begins." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  drawing  her  to  him,  he  pressed  her 
to  his  heart,  imprinted  a  warm  kiss  upon  her  fair  brow,  and 
drawing  her  arm  through  his,  led  her  to  the  drawing-room. 

Among  all  her  guests  that  night,  and  there  were  many  there 


80  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

who  were  called  beautiful,  none  were  so  lovely,  so  joyous,  so 
happy  as  Herbert's  fair  wife  ;  and  after  all  bad  departed,  and 
they  were  left  once  more  alone,  Herbert,  addressing  her,  said, 
"  I  should  not  have  known  you,  dear  Mary.  You  were  a  dif- 
ferent being. ' 

"  You  see  what  mutual  confidence  will  do,"  she  answered. 
"  Let  us  be  ever  thus,  and  earth  will  be  a  heaven  to  both." 

Previous  to  this,  and  while  they  were  still  in  the  drawing- 
room,  where  a  few  guests  still  lingered,  a  man,  who  made  his 
appearance  late  in  the  evening,  and  who  had  stood  aloof  from 
the  rest,  taking  no  part  either  in  the  conversation  or  the  va- 
rious festivities,  remained  alone  in  the  dressing-room.  Her- 
bert had  noticed  him,  once  or  twice,  during  the  evening  as 
being  a  stranger  to  him,  but  had  thought  nothing  of  the  cir- 
cumstance, believing  him  to  have  been  brought  there  by  some 
friend,  who  had  neglected  to  introduce  him,  and  once  or  twice 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  addressing  him,  but  something 
had  as  often  prevented  it. 

He  sat  quietly  in  the  dressing-room  for  some  moments,  and 
then  opening  the  door,  he  listened.  All  was  still,  and  ho 
came  out  into  the  hall  on  tip-toe,  and  proceeded  cautiously  to 
the  room  in  which  we  found  Herbert  sitting  early  in  the  eve- 
ning. 

Entering  stealthily,  he  looked  around  :  "  This  is  the  room 
where  she  keeps  her  jewels,  and  the  plate  is  not  far  off.  All 
right."  Then  going  to  the  window  he  looked  out,  and  gave  a 
low  whistle,  to  which,  however,  there  was  no  response. 

*'  Confound  the  fellow,  he  is  not  there  !"  he  muttered.  "  I 
hope  he  won't  get  chicken-hearted  just  at  the  very  pinch. 
However,  here  goes  to  prepare  the  way,  at  any  rate."  And 
taking  a  ladder  of  small,  yet  exceedingly  strong  silken  rope 
from  his  pocket,  he  fastened  one  end,  by  means  of  a  powerful 
clamp,  to  the  sill  outside,  and  allowed  the  other  to  fall  into 
the  vard  below. 


I 


SUDKEN  VOW,  OR  THE  FORCED  MARRIAGE.         81 

The  right  length  to  a  foot !"  he  muttered.  "  A  good 
measurement.  Now  to  get  out  of  this  and  stir  up  that  fellow 
to  the  sticking  point." 

He  left  the  room  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  entered  it,  and 
passing  the  servants  in  the  hall,  went  into  the  street  and  pro- 
ceeded to  th«  corner  above,  where  anotlier  person  stood,  evi- 
dently waiting  for  him. 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind,  Wharton,"  said  Foster.  "  I  will 
liave  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair.  The  very  thought  of  it 
drives  me  almost  mad." 

"  Pshaw !  man,"  urged  Wharton  ;  "  don't  be  a  fool.  Every- 
thing is  prepared,  and  the  thing  may  be  done  without  a  risk. 
You  have  only  to  climb  the  ladder,  seize  the  jewels  and  plate, 
and  before  any  alarm  can  be  given,  be  off.  Once  in  the  street, 
you  are  all  right." 

But  it  was  some  time  'ere  Wharton  succeeded  in  remov- 
ing the  scruples  from  the  mind  of  his  companion.  He  suc- 
ceeded at  last,  however,  and  the  two  moved  away  together. 

Mary  sat  in  her  own  room,  alone.  She  had  removed  the 
necklace  and  the  other  brilliant  and  costly  gems,  which  she  had 
worn  that  evening,  and  placed  them  near  a  handsome  jewel 
casket,  which  stood  upon  the  table  near  the  window. 

Her  face  was  radiant  with  happiness,  for  the  most  cherished 
wish  of  her  heart  had  been  gratified.  She  felt  confident  that 
she  possessed  the  undivided  heart  of  her  husband,  and  knew 
that  every  doubt  of  her  had  passed  from  his  soul. 

"  I  can  scarcely  realize  the  joy  I  feel,"  she  thought.  '*  It 
seems  like  a  dream.  A  moment  has  sufficed  to  change  the 
whole  aspect  of  my  life.  What  misery  we  have  both  endured 
in  thus  foolishly  doubting  the  loyalty  of  each  other's  hearts. 
Poor  Creighton,  how  he  must  have  suffered  under  this  dread- 
ful suspicion.  But  he  will  suffer  no  more,  my  whole  life  shall 
be  devoted  to  making  him  happj.     How  beautiful  those  diar 


82  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

monds  are.     How  kind  of  him  to  bring  them  to  me,  even 
when  he  thought  I  did  not  love  him  !" 

"  A  slight  noise  outside  of  the  window  startled  her,  and  she 
rose  nervously,  and  went  towards  the  door.  Then  pausing, 
she  smiled  at  her  own  fears,  and  coming  back,  resumed  her 
seat.  "  What  a  coward  I  am  !"  she  murmured.  "  Every  little 
noise  makes  me  tremble  like  a  leaf.  Surely  no  evil  can  hap- 
pen to  me  to-night." 

She  was  sitting  with  her  back  to  the  window,  which  was 
open,  and  as  she  uttered  the  last  words,  Foster  Dalton  placed 
Ms  foot  upon  the  sill,  and  glided  noiselessly  into  the  room. 
His  quick  eye  glanced  round  the  apartment,  and  he  seemed 
surprised  to  see  it  occupied.  His  first  impulse  seemed  to  be 
to  retreat,  but  in  a  moment  he  altered  his  mind,  and  raising 
his  hand  to  the  gas-burner  by  the  side  of  the  mirror,  he  turned 
out  th-e  light ;  and  snatching  the  diamonds  and  the  casket  from 
the  table,  as  he  did  so,  placed  them  in  his  breast. 

Mary  uttered  a  quick,  sharp  cry,  and,  as  if  by  instinct,  seized 
the  robber  by  the  arm. 

"  Call  not,"  Foster  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Do  not  giv« 
the  alarm  !  I  will  go  !  Yes,  yes,  I  thought  I  could  commit 
this  deed,  but  I  cannot.  Speak  not,  and  no  harm  shall  befall 
you." 

"  Oh,  Heavens  !  Help,  help  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  Creighton  ! 
Husband !  quick.     Quick !" 

"  Great  God !  that  voice  !"  Foster  exclaimed.  **  Where  am  I  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  Creighton  Herbert,  followed  by  the  servants, 
bearing  lights,  burst  open  the  door,  and  entered  the  apartment. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  he  cried. 

"  Great  Heaven !"  Mary  exclaimed,"  starting  back  in  fear. 
"  Foster  !" 

"  What !"  shouted  Creighton,  "  Foster  Dalton  !"  and  taking 
a  pistol  from  his  breast,  pointed  it  at  Foster's  heart. 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  83 

"  Oh,  do  not  kill  him,  husband  !  Spare  him  !"  cried  Mary, 
seizing  Herbert's  arm. 

"  Spare  him,  madam  !  Spare  him,  your  lover  ;  alone  in  your 
apartment  in  the  dead  of  night?" 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  Mary  exclaimed.  "  Ha  !  I  see  it  all.  Oh, 
have  mercy  on  me  !  Do  not  kill  h'm,  let  him  speak  and  ex- 
onerate me  from  this  dreadful  charge !"  and  with  a  desperate 
effort,  she  grasped  the  pistol  which  her  husband  held,  and 
snatching  it  from  him,  threw  it  to  the  further  end  of  the 
apartment. 

In  the  meantime,  Foster  had  stood  as  if  struck  motionless 
and  dumb.  His  face  gradually  lost  all  expression,  and  he  looked 
around  him  with  a  vacant  stare.  Then,  as  Mary  snatched  the 
pistol,  his  eye  lit  up  for  a  moment,  and  he  exclaimed  :  "Where 
am  I  ?  Ah  !  I  know.  I  am  a  robber,  a  thief !"  and  taking 
the  diamonds  which  he  had  thrust  into  his  bosom,  he  cast 
them  on  the  floor,  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Yes,  I  am  a  thief;  but  I 
knew  not  who  I  came  to  rob.  There  are  the  jewels  !  Take 
them  !  Ha !  I  choke  !  I  burn  !  I  suffocate !  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !" 
and  wuth  a  maniacal  laugh,  he  rushed  to  the  window,  and,  'ere 
(h'eighton  could  seize  him,  disappeared. 

''  Follow  him  by  the  back  door — quick  !"  shouted  Herbert, 
rushing  from  the  room.  "  But  do  not  injure  him  upon  your 
lives !" 

"  Oh,  Herbert,  stay !     Hear  me  !"  screamed  Mary.     "  I — I 

"  but  her  energies  failed  her,  and  she  sank  on  the  floor 

fainting. 


CHAPTP]R  VII. 

LiGK  Bates,  after  having  imparted  to  Lucy,  who  had  accom- 
panied him  to  the  city  in  hopes  of  finding  and  reclaiming  her 
misguided  husband,  the  account  of  his  interview  with  him,  had 
gone  once  more  in  search  of  Foster  Dalton,  and  while  the  events 
just  related  were  taking  place,  he  was  returning  dejected  and 
weary  from  his  fruitless  errand. 

Entering  a  large  house,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  Bowery,  he 
climbed  with  slow  steps,  the  various  flights  of  stairs,  until  he 
reached  the  apartment  which  he  occupied,  and  opening  the 
door,  he  flp*""'  himself  into  a  chair,  exclaiming,  "Well.  1  kin 
do  no  more .  vYou  might  jist  as  well  try  to  find  a  needle  in  a 
haystack  as  t  to  find  anybody  in  this  derned  overgrown  town. 
What  on  earth  shall  I  say  to  Lucy  ?     I  thought  1  should  fetch 


84  BUNOE*S  TEN  CENT  NOVELS. 

]her  good  news.     Well,  there's  no  use  talking,  she's  got  to  know 
the  worst,  and  she  might  as  well  know  it  fust  as  last !" 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  going  into  the  hall  knocked  at  the 
door  of  a  neighboring  room,  and  in  answer  to  his  summons  Lucy 
appeared. 

"  Well,  Lige,  you  have  returned.     Not  alone  I  hope  ?" 

'•  Yes,  Miss  Dalton,  alone  ;  replied  Lige,  entering  the  room 
and  taking  a'seat,  "  I  can't  find  nor  hear  nothing  of  him.  I  went 
to  the  place  he  wrote  down,  and  they  had  never  heard  of  sich  a 
person.  I  spose  he  must  a'  changed  his  name.  I  have  axed  all 
sorts  o'  questions,  of  all  sorts  o'  people.  Some  laughed  at  me  ; 
some  sent  me  on  a  fool's  errants  to  the  wrong  places,  and  some 
seemed  to  think  I  was  crazy.  I  chaced  all  the  w^ay  up  to  the 
Central  Park,  where  I  saw  him  the  other  day,  but  it  warnt  of 
no  use,  and  then  I  tried  to  find  that  pesky  old  villain,  Peleg 
Bryce,  but  I  couldn't  find  him  neither,  and  I've  cum  back  just 
as  wise  as  I  left,  and  as  tired  as  a  mill-horse !" 

*'  My  last  hope  is  then  gone  !"  said  Lucy,  dejectedly.  '*  All 
is  over  now!     I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  give  it  up  !  I'll  take  another  look  to- 
morrow.    Trust  in  Providence,  Miss  Dalton." 

"  Alas  I  I  have  lost  all  trust.  My  heart  tells  me  he  is  lost  to 
me  forever.  I  shall  go  home  to-morrow,  and,  if  I  can,  forget 
him.  But  his  poor  father,  he  returned  too,  but  a  short  time 
ago,  from  an  unsuccessful  search  for  his  son,  and  has  gone  to 
bed  nearly  heart-broken !" 

"  Well,  I  recon  I'd  better  do  the  same  thing,"  said  Lige,  "  for 
I  can't  hardly  stand  on  my  legs,  I  am  so  tired.  You  kin  call 
me,  you  know,  if  anything  happens." 

*'  Yes,  yes,  Lige,  go  to  bed.  You  have  been  very  good  to 
me.     I  shall  never  forget  how  kind  you  are." 

"  Don't  say  nothing  about  it,"  said  Lige,  "  I'd  do  aheep  more 
for  you  than  I  have,  and  I'm  going  to  find  Foster  yet.  So  keep 
a  stiff  upper  lip  up,  and  good  night." 

Entering  his  room  once  more,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed 
without  removing  his  clothes.  Five  minutes  had  not  elapsed, 
however,  and  he  had  hardly  began  to  lose  himself  in  sleep,  'ere 
the  sound  of  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs,  caused  him  to  start 
up  in  bed  and  listen.     The  sounds  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

Some  one  was  coming  up  stairs,  at  the  top  of  his  speed. 
At  last  the  person,  whoever  it  was,  stopped  upon  the  landing, 
and  then  footsteps  approached  his  door.  In  anotlier  moment 
it  opened  with  a  crash,  whicli  brought  Lige  to  his  feet,  and 
seizing  a  chair,  hastily,  he  raised  it  above  his  head,  just  as  a  man 
bounded  into  the  room.     Lige  was  about  to  fell  the  intruder  to 


BROKEN   Tow,   OR  THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  85 

the  floor,  when  in  the  miserable  frightened  being  before  him, 
he  recognized  Foster  Dalton,  and  started  back  in  surprise. 

"  What.  Foster!"  he  exclaimed,  putting  down  the  chair  and 
going  to  him. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Hide  me,  quick.  Quick  !  They  will  be  here 
soon,  hide  me,  for  pity's  sake." 

«  Hide  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  quick,  or  I  am  lost !  Hush  !  do  not  speak  loud, 
or  they  will  hear  and  find  me.     Talk  in  whispers." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?     What  have  you  done  ?" 

"  I  do  not  hear  them,"  Foster  said,  going  to  the  door  softly, 
and  looking  out  wildly.     "  They  have  got  off  my  track." 

"  Who  ?     What  ?     What  in  thunder  has  happened  ?" 

"  Hush  !  I  will  tell  you  by-and-by,"  said  Foster,  still  listen- 
ing at  the  door. 

"  He's  as  crazy  as  a  loon,"  thought  Lige.  "  I  never  saw 
such  eyes  in  any  crittur's  head.  It  won't  do  to  let  Lucy  see 
him  in  this  fix,  it  would  kill  her.  What  in  the  name  of  the 
Constitution,  be  I  going  to  do  with  him  ?" 

"  You  are  astonished  to  see  me,  eh,  Lige  ?"  whispered  Fos- 
ter, with  a  grin,  which  showed  reason  Avas  fast  deserting  him, 

"  Yes,  I  be."  said  Lige.  "  But  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  too. 
Though  what  in  the  name  o' thunder  I'm  going  to  do  with  you, 
I'm  derned  if  I  know." 

*'  I'll  tell  you,  Lige.  Hide  me  I  I  must  stay  here  till  the 
search  is  over." 

"  The  sarch  !     Who's  a  sarching  you  and  what  fur  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  they  are  looking  fffb  me.  But  they  must  not  find 
me.  You  must  keep  me  quiet,  hush !  Hark.  I  hear  some  one 
coming.  Do  you  not  hear  their  footsteps  on  the  stairs  ?.  There 
are  several  of  them.     They  are  coming  this  way  !" 

"  I  hear  somebody  that's  a  fact,"  said  Lige,  closing  the  door 
and  placing  his  back  against  it.   "  But  there  aint  but  one  man." 

"  Oh,  hide  me,  quick,  or  I  am  lost,"  exclaimed  Foster,  in  pite- 
ous accents.     "  If  they  come  in  and  find  me  they  will  take  me 
to  prison.     To  prison  !  do  you  hear?" 
B  "  To  prison  !  but.  what  for  ?  What  on  earth  shall  I  do  ?  There 
aint  room  to  hide  a  cat  here,"  said  Lige,  perplexed  in  the  ex- 
l^reme. 

IV  "  Ha !  it  is  too  late  !"  Foster  exclaimed,  as  some  one  knock- 
ed at  the  door.     "  Too  late.     They  are  here." 
K   "  I  must,"  said  Lige  to  himself,  "  here,  git  under  the  bed,  and 
'"  e  quick  about  it.     *'  Who's  there  ?"  he  asked,  as  the  knocking 

at  the  door  was  repeated.     "What  do  you  want?" 
M  "  Open  quickly !"  said  a  voice  from  the  outside. 

li 


86  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  I  can't,  I'm  abed  and  fast  asleep !"  Lige  replied,  hardly 
knowing  what  he  said,  and  keeping  his  broad  shoulders  more 
firmly  against  the  door. 

"  Open  !  it  is  a  friend  !  I  come  to  save  him !" 

"  A  friend  !"  said  Lige  to  himself.  "  Whether  it  is  or  not, 
it  aint  no  use  to  resist !"  and  he  stepped  away  from  the  door, 
which  yielding  to  the  pressure  outside,  opened,  and  Creighton 
Herbert  entered  the  room. 

Foster  was  standing  by  the  bed  pale  with  fear,  and  when  he 
saw  Herbert  he  made  an  effort  to  get  away,  but  as  he  passed 
the  young  physician,  he  was  grasped  by  the  arm,  while  Herbert 
said,  "  have  no  fear,  I  do  not  come  to  harm  you !" 

At  this  moment,  and  while  Foster  still  struggled  in  the  arms 
of  Herbert,  Lucy,  who  had  been  alarmed  by  the  noise,  entered 
the  room,  and  as  her  gaze  fell  upon  her  husband,  she  uttered  a 
cry  of  recognition,  and  rushed  towards  him. 

"  What  means  this  ?"  she  asked.    "  Why  do  I  find  you  thus  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  said  Herbert,  listening.  "  I  was  fearful  some  one 
had  pursued  him  beside  myself." 

"  Pursued  ?"  asked  Lucy.  "  Why  ?  What  has  he  done  ?  Oh, 
Foster,  speak  to  me,  or  I  shall  die  of  fear  and  suspense  !" 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud,  they  will  hear  you  and  take  me  to 
prison,"  said  the  wretched  man  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  To  prison  !"  exclaimed  Lucy,  "  for  what  crime  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answei*ed  Foster,  distractedly.  "  You 
would  betray  me.  But  no,  poor  woman,  you  look  pale  too. 
You  have  been  suffering."      ^ 

"Yes,  yes;  cruelly — but  nevermind  that.  We  will  be  happy 
now.     Happy  with  our  child.     How  could  you  leave  us  so  ?" 

"A  child!  have  you  a  child?'  asked  Foster,  with  a  vacant 
look. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  our  child,  our  little  Marie  !" 

"  He's  as  crazy  as  a  hen  with  her  head  off,"  said  Lige  to 
Herbert.    "  What  will  the  old  man  do  when  he  sees  him  ?" 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  He's  gone  to  bed." 

"  I  will  see  him,  and  break  the  dreadful  news  to  him,"  said 
Herbert. 

Lucy  meanwhile  had  led  Foster  to  the  bed,  and  made  him 
git  down,  taking  her  place  by  his  side.  He  made  no  resist- 
ance, and  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  where  he  was. 

"  Do  you  not  remember  our  little  child  ?"  she  asked. 

'*  No,  no  ;  leave  me  !  I  have  no  child,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
for  she  would  curse  ber  father.  If  I  hud  a  child  I  would  kill 
it.  Yes,  I  would  kill  it,  for  it's  father  would  be  a  thief,  a 
midnight  robber." 


BROKEN   VOW,   OR   THE   FORCED    MARRIAGE.  87 

"  Oh,  Heavens,  he  is  mad  !"  exclaimed  Lucy,  bursting  into 
tears.     Mad  !     Mad  !" 

"  Don't  cry,  madam,"  said  Foster,  soothingly.  Don't  cry  ! 
You  are  good  and  will  not  denounce  me.  Let  me  stay  here  ? 
You  can  say  that  I  am  your  brother,  and  they  will  believe  you," 

"  And  is  it  thus,  that  he  returns  to  me  ?"  exclaimed  Lucy. 

"  Listen  !"  Foster  went  on.  "  I  will  tell  you  something-  I 
have  been  a  very  wicked  man.  I  ioved  Mary  Maythorne. 
Oh,  you  should  have  seen  her !  She  was  very  beautiful,  and  I 
loved  her.  My  love  for  her  colored  ray  whole  life,  but  they 
separated  me  from  her.  Then  I  became  desperate.  Despair 
made  me  mad,  and  I  became  a  thief !" 

"  Oh,  Heaven !  have  mercy  on  him." 

"  You  weep.  That  is  kind  of  you.  You  are  sorry  for  me. 
Let  me  see,  what  was  I  saying  ?  Oh,  yes — I  remember  now, 
there  was  a  woman  who  loved  me.  My  wife !  I  abandoned 
her,  and  made  her  wretched  and  unhappy." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  very  unhappy !"  sobbed  poor  Lucy. 

"  Don't  cry,  it  hurts  me.  I  am  sorry  I  abandoned  her.  I 
have  repented  of  it  from  my  heart.  Her  name  was  Lucy, 
Lucy  Thornton.  She  loved  me,  and  I  betrayed  her,  and  she 
will  never  pardon  me  the  deep  wrong  I  did  her.  But  I  love 
her  now !     I  shall  love  her  while  I  live." 

At  this  moment  old  Hiram  Dalton  entered  the  room.  He 
started  back  in  amazement,  at  the  scene  before  him,  and  then 
approaching  the  bed,  he  caught  Foster  in  his  arms,  and  ex- 
claiming, "  My  son,  my  poor  boy  !"  burst  into  tears. 

'*  Have  a  care,"  said  Creighton,  drawing  Hiram  gently  away. 
"  Too  strong  an  emotion  might  be  fatal  to  him." 

"  Look  at  me,"  said  Lucy.  "  I  am  your  wife !  do  you  not 
remember  me  ?     I  love  you  Foster,  I  pardon  you." 

"  You  will  not  denounce  me  ?  Swear  you  will  not !"  he  ex- 
claimed, rising,  and  then  perceiving  Herbert,  he  turned  upon 
her,  saying,  "  Ah !  you  have  deceived  me.  You  have  betray- 
ed me.  See,  you  have  brought  him  to  take  me  to  prison.  It 
was  him  I  robbed.  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  now.  It  wa^  in  his 
house.     But  I  did  not  know  it.     I  did  not  know  it." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Herbert,  "  and  forgive  you.  I  must  go 
now,"  he  continued,  addressing  Fosters  father,  •*  But  I  will 
return  soon.  It  is  day-light.  He  is  safe  here,  but  he  must  be 
removed  to  the  country.  Perhaps  the  associations  of  home 
may  restore  his  shattered  mind.  I  have  hopes  of  him  since 
he  has  recognized  me." 

"  Oh,  Sir,"  exclaimed  Foster.     "  Have  pity  upon  me.    Take 
^me  to  prison,  kill  me  if  you  will,  but  do  not  tell  my  father  of 
my  crime.    He  would  die  of  shame  and  grief  " 


^^  bunce's  ten  -cext  novels. 

^    "  Alas  !  he  does  not  know  me,"  cried  Hiram.     «  God  has 
Indeed  punished  him  severely." 

"  God  has  punished  him,  and  God  alone  can  save  him,"  said 
Herbert,  as  he  hastened  away  to  seek  the  forgiveness  of  his 
wife  for  his  fresh  suspicion  of  her  trutk 


CHAPTER  VHI. 

The  next  day,  punctual  to  his  promise,  Creighton  Herbert 
visited  the  house  were  Lucy  was  stopping,  and,  by  his  advice, 
and  with  his  assistance,  Foster  Dalton  was  taken  home,  accom- 
panied by  his  wifb  and  father,  and  Lige  Bates,  who  was  not 
sorry  to  leave  the  city,  especially  as  his  thoughts  began  to  wan- 
der more  and  more  towards  Miss  Nancy,  who,  though  she  had 
consented  to  become  his  wife  on  the  coming  Thanksgiving,  he 
feared  might  change  her  mind,  if  he  staid  too  long  among  the 
temptations  of  the  wicked  city. 

Herbert  gave  Hiram  strict  instructions  as  to  the  course  of 
treatment  to  be  pursued  towards  his  wretched  son,  and  buoyed 
up  the  old  man's  heart,  with  hope,  by  speaking  confidently  of 
his  final  recovery.  He  also  wrote  letters  to  Parson  Woodly 
and  Doctor  Parker,  asking  their  assistance,  and  giving  the  latter 
such  information  in  regard  to  the  case  as  he  thought  necessary 
for  his  guidance,  promising  to  visit  Lenox,  from  time  to  time, 
and  watch  the  indications  of  the  mental  abberation  under 
which  Foster  suffered. 

On  their  arrival  at  home,  poor  Granny  Dalton.  who  was  eve?y 
day  drawing  nearer  and  more  near  to  her  grave,  was  overwhelmed 
with  grief  to  see  the  sad  condition  of  her  grandson. 

Weeks  rolled  by  and  still  no  change  took  place  in  Foster 
Dalton.  He  was  mild  and  easily  managed,  and  submitted  to 
the  care  lavished  upon  him  with  a  stolid  indifference,  being 
subject,  however,  to  occasional  outbursts  of  grief  and  passion 
whenever  the  subject  of  his  child  was  mentioned.  At  these 
times  none  could  calm  or  soothe  him  save  Lige  Bates,  who 
treated  him  as  he  would  a  baby,  and  by  means  of  his  vast 
strength,  and  a  sort  of  moral  power  he  had  by  some  means  ob- 
tained over  the  mind  of  the  patient,  always  succeeded  in  quiet- 
ing him. 

His  mind  would  sometimes  light  up  with  a  remembrance  of 
the  past,  but  he  always  spoke  of  his  wife  and  father,  as  dead, 
and  would  frequently  shed  tears  at  the  thought  of  seeing  ttieni 
no  more.     His  greater  grief  being,  that  Lucy  had  died  with- 


out forgiving  hiio. 


BROKEN   VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  89 

The  case  sadly  puzzled  poor  Doctor  Parker,  who  would  have 
given  up  all  hope,  but  for  the  continual  assertions  of  Creigh- 
tou  Herbert,  that  he  would  eventually  recover,  and  the  favora- 
ble opinions  expressed  by  one  or  two  physicians  of  note,  whom 
Herbert  had  brought  from  New  York  on  the  occasions  of  his 
visits. 

At  last  Herbert  came  up  from  the  city,  it  being  midsummer, 
when  all  who  can,  desert  the  town  for  the  country,  and  took 
up  his  residence  at  the  house  of  his  wife's  father,  so  that  not 
a  day  passed  without  a  visit  from  him  at  the  Dalton  farm. 

Under  his  continual  care,  a  slight  improvement  soon  began 
to  be  visible,  and  at  last,  as  these  signs  of  gradual  returning 
mental  strength  began  to  show  themselves,  he  formed  a  plan 
wliich  he  hoped  would  bring  about  the  desired  reaction  at  once. 

Accordingly,  he  presented  himself  at  the  house  of  Hiram 
Dalton  one  morning,  and  taking  Lucy  aside,  the  following  con- 
versation ensued. 

"  You  say,"  he  commenced,  as  soon  as  they  had  left  the 
house  and  stood  in  the  door-yard,  under  the  shade  of  the  grand 
old  elms  which  surrounded  the  place,  "  that  since  your  return 
he  has  never  consented  to  see  the  child  ?" 

"  Never,  and  whenever  I  have  mentioned  it  before  him,  he 
became  violent,  and  such  an  expression  came  over  his  face,  that 
I  trembled  lest  he  should  commit  some  fearful  act." 

"  And  you  think  that  if  you  should  bring  her  into  his  pres- 
ence   " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  ;  Doctor  Herbert !  I  would  not  dare.  He  would 
kill  her !  I  have  thought  of  sending  the  child  away,  lest  by 
some  accident  he  should  see  it,  but  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  parting  with  the  little  one." 

"  I  have  heard  him,  more  than  once,"  said  Herbert,  "  pro- 
nounce the  name  of  Peleg  Bryce.^' 

"  Yes,  he  attributes  all  his  crime,  all  his  sorrows,  to  him."    . 

"  Has  he  ever  explained  in  what  way  Peleg  influenced  his 
fate  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  often  speaks  of  it.  It  was  this  Peleg  who  first 
prompted  him  to  leave  me,  and  it  was  he  who  continually 
fanned  his  fatal  passion  for  Mary,  and  made  him  jealous  of 
you.  It  was  through  his  means  that  he  fell  among  the  asso- 
ciates he  did  while  in  New  York,  and  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Wharton,  who  prompted  the  robbery,  was  set  on  by  Peleg." 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  Herbert.  This  is  dreadful. 
But  listen  to  me  and  do  not  be  frightened  at  what  I  shall  say. 
Listen  with  calmness,  and  summon  all  your  fortitude  and  faith 
in  Heaven.     There  are  moments  when  our  Heavenly  Father 


90  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

inspires  us  wit>i  a  thought  which  is  made  the  instrument  of 
his  will,  and  when  we  have  such  thoughts,  our  hearts  are  full 
of  confidence  and  hope.  You  believe  in  my  devotion,  do  you 
not  ?" 

«  How  can  I  doubt  it  ?" 

"  I  think  that  I  can  save  your  husband,  but  the  means  may 
strike  you  as  being  fearful,  when  the  dreadful  indications  of  his 
malady  are  taken  into  consideration.  May  I  ask  you  to  trust 
me?" 

"  I  will  do  all  you  ask  ?" 

"  Then,  I  believe,  that  under  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  to-day, 
your  husband  will  be  restored  to  you,  that  he  will  recover  his 
reason,  and  embrace  you  as  his  wife,  and  take  his  child  to  his 
heart." 

Oh,  no,  no.  I  cannot  think  it !  His  child  ?  I  cannot,  I 
dare  not  trust  him  !" 

"  It  must  be.     No  harm  shall  happen  to  her." 

"  You  make  me  quake  wi?th  fear.     But  I  will  do  as  you  wish." 

"  Bravely  spoken  !  Put  your  trust  in  God  whose  humble  in- 
strument 1  am.  But  I  perceive  Foster  coming  this  way,  ac- 
companied by  Lige.  Leave  us  for  the  present.  Go,  and  ask 
Heaven  to  bless  our  efforts." 

"  I  will,  I  will !"  she  murmured,  as  she  hurried  into  the  house. 

Foster,  accompanied  by  Lige,  now  approached  with  down- 
cast step  and  listless  slip. 

As  he  came  close  to  him,  Herbert  called  him  by  name.  He 
started  and  raised  his  head ;  then,  as  he  recognised  him,  he 
made  a  step  backward  as  if  in  fear.  Herbert,  however,  spoke 
kindly  to  him  again,  and  extending  his  hand,  advanced  towards 
him  looking  him  full  in  the  eye.  The  traces  of  fear  gradually 
gave  way  in  Foster's  looks,  and  his  eye  brightened  slightly,  as 
he  took  the  extended  hand  of  Herbert's  in  his  own. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  your  friend,  do  you  not  ?"  Herbert 
asked,  at  the  same  time  making  a  sign  for  Lige  to  leave  them 
alone,  a  hint  he  took  by  going  at  once. 

"  Yes,  yes,  perhaps !"  he  replied,  looking  timidly  around  him. 

"  You  need  not  be  alarmed,  we  are  alone." 

"  Is  there  no  one  here  to  arrest  me,  to  drag  me  to  prison  ?" 
asked  the  poor  maniac,  with  a  trembling  voice. 

"  No,  no  ;  why  should  any  one  arrest  you  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?" 

•'  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

*'  Hush,  speak  low  !  The  diamonds  I" 

«  Well,  what  of  them  ?" 

"  I  stole  them !  Hush !  Do  not  betray  me." 


BROKEN    VOW,    OR   THE    FORCED    MARRIAGE.  91 

'oil  are  mistaken  ;  it  was  not  you." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  it  was  !  "  He  is  mad  !"  he  said,  looking  at  him 
piteously  ;  "  mad  !" 

"  No,  no  ;  you  were  a  dupe,  a  tool !  A  miserable  scoundrel 
whom  justice  will  one  day  overtake,  took  advantage  of  your 
distress,  your  desperation,  to  lead  you  into  temptation.  But 
you  did  not  complete  the  wicked  deed.  Conscience  stricken, 
you  threw  down  your  booty,  and " 

"  You  are  wrong,  I  tell  you.  I  stole  the  diamonds  in  the  house 
of — of — I  forget  now,  where  it  was,  but  I  stole  them  !" 

'•  Where  are  they,  then  ?" 

"  Ha,  ha !  I  have  hid  them  !  Hush  !  Hid  them  !  They  were 
so  beautiful!  I  was  hungry,  starving!  and  I  became  a  thief, 
dishonored  !  Thank  God  I  have  no  family  to  share  my  disgrace  1 
The  shame  falls  on  me  alone." 

"  You  have  a  father,  have  you  not  ?"  asked  Herbert,  taking 
his  patient  kindly  by  the  hand. 

'*  No.  I  have  none.  He  died  of  a  broken  heart  on  my  account." 

*  A  grand-mother  ?     You  remember  your  old  Granuv." 

"  Dead  !  dead  !" 

"  But  your  wife,  who  loved  you  so  ;  she  still  lives  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  no  ;  they  are  all  dead.  My  poor  Lucy !  she  died 
without  pardoning  me.  I  have  wept  to  think  of  it.  I  wish  I 
had  died  with  her,  or  I  wish  she  had  lived  until  I  could  have 
made  her  happy.  I  would  have  made  her  forget  the  past.  But 
alas,  she  is  gone  forever !" 

"  And  you  have  no  one  left  in  all  the  world  ?" 

"  No  one  ;  not  one  to  love  me  ;  not  one  to  pity  me." 

"Yes,"  yes;  there  is  one.  Believe  me  there  is  one!"  said 
Herbert,  impressively. 

"  I  tell  you  no !" 

"  There  is  !     Marie — ^your  child  and  Lucy's  !" 
*     "  No.    I  have  no  child." 

"  You  have  !  I  know  it.     I  have  seen  her — embraced  her." 

"  If  she  lives  she  is  far  from  here,  or  if  she  is  not,  take  her 
away." 

"  Why?" 

"  Because  I  will  not  see  her,  she  will  know  all.  She  would 
read  my  infamy  in  my  looks.  She  would  fly  from  me — curse  me. 
Oh,  I  would  rather  kill  her  than  see  her  blush  for  her  father." 

"  Kill  her  !  oh,  shame  !  shame  !" 

"  Yes  ;  I  would  kill  her  !  She  shall  never  know  her  father — 
never  see  him." 

"  But,  Foster " 

"  Say  no  more  !"  he  cried,  fiercely.    "  I  will  not  hear  you !" 


92  bunce's  ten  cent  novels. 

"  But  suppose  Providence  should  place  this  child  near  you, 
if  your  little  Marie  should  be  made  an  instrument  for  changing 
the  whole  future  of  your  existence,  and  once  more  light  up  your 
soul  with  joy  and  happiness.  If  she  should  come  to  you  in  her 
loveliness  and  purity,  and  say  to  you,  "  Father  I'love  you  ?" 

"  No,  no  ;  she  cannot  love  me  !  But  you  deceive  me,  I  have 
no  child," 

At  a  sign  from  Herbert,  between  whom  and  Hiram,  a  pre- 
vious understanding  had  taken  place,  the  old  man  advanced 
from  the  house,  leading  Lucys  child  by  the  hand,  followed  by 
Lucy  and  poor  old  Granny,  supported  by  Lige  Bates  and  Nancy. 

^'  See !"  exclaimed  Herbert,  pointing  to  the  child,  "  I  do 
not  deceive  you,  she  is  there  !" 

Every  breath  was  hushed,  and  not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
scene,  save  the  sweet  voices  of  the  birds  flitting  in  the  branches 
among  the  elms,  as  Foster  looked  in  the  direction  indicated. 
He  gazed  for  a  moment  curiously,  and  then  turning  to  Her- 
bert, while  a  terrible  cloud  overshadowed  his  face,  he  exclaimed: 

"  If  you  speak  truth,  take  her  away,  quick,  and  hide  me 
from  her  sight,  or  let  me  fly  !  She  will  read  that  dreadful 
name  upon  my  brow  !  She  will  hear  that  I  am  — —  Oh,  I 
am  going  mad !,' 

"  I  speak  the  truth !  Behold  your  child  !  Go  take  it  in 
your  arms  !" 

^'  No,  no.     Hence  with  it." 

"  Heaven  smile  upon  me  now !"  Herbert  prayed,  mentally, 
as  seizing  the  child  from  Herbert's  arms,  he  took  it  to  it's 
father,  saying,  "  Marie,  speak  to  your  father  !" 

The  little  thing  held  out  it's  tiny  hands,  and  in  childish  ac- 
cents, muttered,  "  Poor  father  sick  ?" 

"  That  voice  !"  cried  Foster.     "  That  voice !     It  comes  upon 
me  like  a  dream  of  the  past.     Yes,  yes.     It  is  my  child.     Then 
she  will  learn  all.     She  will  read  that  horrid  word  which  burns » 
upon  my  brow.     No,  no — rather  let  her  die  in  ignorance  of  all." 

With  a  bound,  he  leaped  from  Herbert's  side,  and  rushing 
to  the  shed  near  by,  seized  an  axe,  and  with  his  eyes,  gleaming 
like  burning  coals,  he  precipitated  himself  towards  the  child. 

Lige  Bates  stood  ready  to  seize  and  hold  him  fast,  but  Fos- 
ter had  not  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  before  he  stopped.  Then 
he  started  back  as  if  in  horror,  and  dropped  the  axe  upon  the 
ground.  A  strange  light  seemed  to  flit  across  his  face,  and 
the  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes. 

"  Pray !  pray  all !"  Herbert  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  taking 
the  child  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  once  more  to  her  father. 

''-Oh,  God  I"  shrieked  Lucy.     "  Protect  them  botL" 


BROKEK  VOW,  OR   THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  93 

"My  son  !  My  son  !"  Hiram  cried,  going  to  where  Foster 
knelt  and  wept. 

"  See,"  said  Herbert.  "  See,  Foster,  again  your  child  puts 
out  her  little  hand  to  you,  and  asks  you  to  embrace  her." 

He  looked  up,  and  a  smile  curled  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
as  he  gazed  upon  her  with  a  fixed  and  earnest  look.  "  Is  it — 
can  it  be  ?"  he  said,  in  a  low  mild  voice,  "  Is  it,  indeed,  my 
child  ?" 

'•  Poor  father !"  said  the  little  one  again,  on  a  sign  from 
Herbert. 

"  You  will  not  fly  from  me  ?  You  do  not  curse  me  ?  No, 
no.     You  will  help  me.     Kiss  me.     Will  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  father,  I  kiss  you,"  and  the  child  moved  towards  him. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  he  hugged  her  to  his  heart,  he 
covered  her  with  kisses — then  holding  her  off  from  him,  he 
murmured,  "  My  daughter  !  Still — still  a  daughter !  Ah, 
what  new  sensations  come  over  me  ?  I  have  never  felt  as  I 
feel  now.  Where  am  I  ?"  Then  seeing  Herbert,  he  rose,  and 
extending  his  hand,  exclaimed,  "  Mr.  Herbert !  Oh,  God  !  I 
am  very  happy,"  and  again  burst  into  tears.  "  Yes,"  he  went 
on,  after  a  moment,  looking  Herbert  in  the  face.  "  I  remem- 
ber— I  remember  !"  Then  hugging  his  child  to  his  heart  once 
more,  he  put  her  down,  and  turning,  saw  his  father. 

A  blush  overshadowed  his  face,  as  he  removed  his  hat  from 
his  head,  and  bowed  to  him  with  reverence. 

The  old  man  could  not  speak  at  first,  but  seizing  his  hand, 
he  shook  it  warmly,  and  said  aloud,  in  a  voice  choked  by  emo- 
tion, "  My  son  was  lost  but  he  is  fomid  !" 

During  this  time  Lucy  stood  aloof,  weeping.  Joy,  fear, 
love,  all  filled  her  heart  to  overflowing.  As  Foster  raised  his 
head  once  more,  his  eye  fell  upon  her,  and  he  bowed  himself 
as  if  in  shame,  then  taking  the  little  child  in  his  arms,  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  *'  Marie,  my  child !  ask  your  mother  to  for- 
give your  father." 

These  words  broke  the  spell,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  poor  Eucy 
sprang  forward,  and  in  loving  w  ords  and  many  sobs,  forgave 
him  all. 

Poor  old  Granny,  too,  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  grati- 
tude, once  more  embraced  her  long  lost  favorite,  as  rasing  her 
trembling  hands  to  Heaven,  she  murmured,  "  And  now.  Lord, 
lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace !" 

Lige  Bates  and  Nancy  were  not  forgotten,  and  Creighton 
Herbert  stood  with  swelling  heart,  surveying  the  happy  scene. 


94  BUNCE's  TEX  CENT  NOVELS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Notliing  now  remains  but  to  bring  tlie  incidents  we  liave 
related  to  a  close. 

The  recovery  of  Foster' s  physical  as  well  as  mental  health, 
was  slow  but  certain,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  the 
bloom  once  more  returned  to  his  cheeks,  and  the  strength  to 
his  arm, 

He  was  in  all  respets  a  changed  man.  He  showed,  by  the 
warm  affection  which  he  evinced  towards  his  long  suffering 
wife  and  his  lovely  child,  that  his  repentance  was  sincere,  and 
that  the  resolution  lie  had  made  to  cause  Lucy  to  forget  the 
dreadful  past  in  a  happy  future,  should  be  religiously  kept. 
He  never  tired  of  talking  to  her  and  begging  her  forgiveness. 
All  the  harshness  of  his  nature  seemed  to  have  passed  away, 
and  he  was  in  all  respects  a  different  being  indeed. 

For  a  long  time  he  did  not  go  abroad  or  mingle  with  the 
world,  but  at  last,  his  delicacy  in  this  regard  wore  off",  and  as 
none  knew  the  crime  of  which  he  had  been  guiltv,  and  all  re- 
marked  the  miraculous  change  for  the  better  which  had  taken 
place  in  him,  he  gradually  re-established  himself  in  the  confi- 
dence of  his  aa^j^uaintances,  and  his  step  once  more  became 
firm,  and  his  eye  bold,  as  he  went  about  on  business  or  on 
pleasure. 

By  the  advice  of  Creighton  Herbert,  he  relinquished  the 
practice  of  the  law,  as  likely  to  over-task  his  somewhat  shaken 
faculties,  and  accepted  a  lucrative  situation,  which  Herbert's 
influence  procured  for  him,  in  a  large  manufacturing  establish- 
ment, in  tiie  vicinity  of  Lenox,  while  he,  his  wife  and  child, 
continued  to  reside  at  the  old  Homestead,  with  his  father. 

Lucy  too,  changed.  Her  pale  cheeks  once  more  reflected 
the  joy  in  her  heart.  Her  eyes  so  long  filled  with  tears,  were 
lit  up  with  animated  pleasure,  and  her  lips,  so  long  unused  to 
smiles,  were  never  seen  without  one. 

Never  again  has  a  cloud  darkened  the  happy  lot  of  Creigh- 
ton and  Mary  Herbert.  Confident  in  each  other's  love,  and 
mutually  regretful  for  the  sad  suspicions  of  the  past,  they  live 
surrounded  by  everything  which  can  render  them  happy.  Be- 
loved and  honored  by  all  who  know  them,  and  quoted  as  models 
of  domestic  purity  and  worth,  they  shed  a  ray  of  happiness 


BROKEN   VOW,  OR   THE   FORCED   MARRIAGE.  95 

upon  all  with  whom  they  come  in  contact,  while  their  children, 
living  in  the  light  of  their  parent's  example,  and  nurtured  in 
all  purity  and  truth,  have  proved  the  dearest  of  all  the  bless- 
ings which  Heaven  has  showered  upon  them.  Mary  and  Fos- 
ter never  meet,  but  Lucy  is  always  a  welcome  guest  of  Mary's 
whenever  she  pays  a  visit  to  her  fathers  house. 

Nancy  kept  her  word  with  Lige,  and  the  next  Thanksgiving 
eve,  became  his  wife.  They  were  married  by  good  old  parson 
Woodly,  in  the  very  room  where  we  first  met  them,  and  a  hap- 
pier wedding  was  never  seen  in  all  New  England. 

Mary  Herbert  took  care  that  the  bride  shuuld  lack  no  finery, 
and  if  ever  there  was  a  warm  hearted,  good-natured,  strong- 
minded  Yankee  girl,  who  considered  herself  "  scrumptious" 
on  her  wedding  day,  that  girl  was  Nancy  Peabody,  when  she 
stood  by  the  side  of  Lige,  to  be  converted  into  Mrs.  Nancy 
Bates. 

As  for  honest  Lige,  he  was  the  envy  of  all  the  boys  for 
miles  around,  and  the  heartiness  with  which  he  dispensed  the 
cider,  after  he  had  been  "  hitched  too,"  as  he  called  it,  and  the 
way  he  laughed  and  joked,  and  kissed  his  blushing  bride  and 
every  other  girl  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  proved  that  he  felt 
as  happy  as  he  looked. 

Herbert  offered  to  buy  a  farm  and  stock  it  for  him,  out 
West,  if  he  would  go  and  settle  on  it,  but  old  Hiram  would 
not  listen  to  the  idea,  but  insisted  upon  his  staying  with  him, 
and  working  the  old  Dalton  farm  on  shares.  This  suited 
Lige,  and  his  wife  too,  better  than  going  West,  and  in  a  snug 
cottage,  which  Hiram  built  for  him,  close  by  the  old  home- 
stead, they  live  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  He  working  the 
farm  and  she  nursing  the  fat,  chubby- faced  baby,  and  attending 
to  the  cares  of  her  dairy,  which  has  the  reputation  of  turning 
out  the  best  cheese  and  butter,  of  any  dairy  in  the  county. 

Poor  old  Granny  lived  about  a  year  after  the  return  of  her 
grandson,  and  died  happy  in  seeing  him  so ,  leaving  him  the 
bulk  of  her  property  in  trust  for  little  Marie,  who  was  a  great 
pet  of  the  good  old  woman.. 

Some  two  years  after  the  marriage  of  Lige  and  Nancy, 
Peleg  Bryce  returned  to  the  neighborhood.  He  had  come 
back  once  or  twice  before,  but  only  to  remain  for  a  few  days, 
for  the  purpose  of  disposing  of  his  property.  When  he  finally 
returned,  he  did  so  penniless,  and  shattered  in  strength  and 
intellect  by  liquor.  His  money,  which  had  been  the  only  thing 
which  had  ever  entitled  him  to  consideration,  being  gone;  dis- 
sipated, as  it  turned  out  to  be  afterwards,  in  swindling  specu- 
ons  practised  upon  him  by  his  associates  in  New  York,  no 


9B  BUNCE'S  TEN  CENT  NOVELS. 

one  cared  even  to  recognize  him,  and  for  some  months,  he  led 
a  vagabond  sort  of  a  life,  going  from  tavern  to  tavern,  trying, 
by  various  means,  to  gratify  his  beastial  appetite  for  liquor. 
At  last  he  disappeared,  and  was  missing  for  some  weeks.  At 
the  end  of  that  time,  some  persons,  who  were  letting  out  the 
water  from  a  mill-pond  in  the  vicinity^  discovered  his  body, 
embeded  in  the  slime  and  filth  of  the  pond,  and  half  devour- 
ed by  the  fishes  and  reptiles  with  which  the  water  abounded. 

As  no  one  appeared  to  claim  the  hideous  mass  which  once 
was  Peleg  Bryce,  it  was  hurried  in  Potter's  Field,  and  no  stone 
marks  the  spot  where  it  turned  to  earth. 

Some  papers,  half  destroyed,  which  were  found  in  an  old 
wallet,  in  a  barn  where  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  sleeping, 
proved  his  connection  with  a  man  named  AVharton,  in  several 
questionable  transactions,  and  a  news  paragraph,  cut  from  the 
police  reports  of  a  daily  New  York  paper,  showed  that  this 
Wharton  had  been  sentenced  to  the  State's  Prison  for  life,  for 
robbery  and  forgery. 

Hiram  Dalton  is  now  a  hale  old  man.  The  evening  of  his 
life  is  happy,  and  as  each  Thanksgiving  day  returns,  he  sits, 
the  centre  of  a  loving  circle,  honored  and  revered,  and  as  he 
dandles  his  grand-children  on  his  knee,  he  thanks  Heaven  for 
all  its  mercies  to  him,  but  more  than  all  for  the  kind  Provi- 
dence which  led  his  son  back  to  the  paths  of  virtue,  and  for- 
gave the  errors  which  were  the  bitter  fruits  of  his  "  Broken 
Vow." 


The  End. 


'•»        TO  THE  PUBLIC. 


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